Camera Angles
by Donrocs1
Summary: Honestly, who could pass up 120 bucks a week to sit in a chair all night? Surely not the short-of cash Phillip. Besides, what could happen at some old pizza-joint? The ugly robotic contraptions stalking the place would be unnerving, but their utterly harmless! 120 bills weekly for a simple game of Camera Angles. So simple... So, fragging, deadly. FEM/Foxy, OC guard.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Mouse Trap for The Unemployed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

**_"To sweep a camera left and right is an automated process done by the device's mechanisms. But to catch what it scans with motioning human vision, that's the trick with anybody browsing the feeds."_**

**_-Writ 1 of Surveillance_** .

The ring of an active blaring always found some form of way or exact, millisecond-precision of timing, to extract someone from rest in the most horrific, startling sort of manner.

When the screech of a roused alarm-clock smacked off the walls and ceiling of his little room, there was the inevitable result of its smacking HIM upside the head.

A grunt, sifting of tossed sheets, and the gradual sheen of sunlight invading the cracks of his closed window shades, the gradual realization those beams of brightness had been there when he went to sleep. Having nocturnally passed the day away would allow two quite contrasting things, and that followed the awkward boredom of later.

First, he'd have to adjust his bed pattern on the weekend, and sarcastically speaking, he REALLY looked forward to that...

But second, and most importantly, it would allow him to stay awake for his new occupation, a night shift, eight hours of sitting in a poorly lit office with nothing but a tablet, a buzzing, rusty little fan and a dusty desk to keep him company.

A security guard with literally nothing to guard from.

He scoffed the mere idea of the job, and with multiple doubts of pay and actual consideration for hire, he had driven to the odd, desolate and rarely busy pizza business building in basically... Well, the middle of nowhere.

It was nestled in an old pavement lot on an old street in an OLDER woodland area, and if the rough upkeep of the place didn't scare you away, than the name would.

Freddie's Pizza was long past its age of popularity, it was forgotten and frankly presented a spooky outlook of a stereotypical haunted warehouse when viewed outside the public rooms.

Whatever the cause of the scene was, it was unimportant to the young man, and as Phillip Linn began to dress in his T-Shirt, he slipped the mediocre looking uniform over it, grabbed his car keys and made for the door of his small home.

At $120 a week, he had leapt at the opportunity, and it was more of a bolster to ward off his doubts, when they hired him on the spot.

Come on, who WOULDN'T go back after being hired ON THE SPOT? This was the 21st century, not the 1940's.

Phillip considered himself lucky on that end, and all he had do was mind the creepy animatronics wandering around and scan the rooms pointlessly in a repeating pattern of uneventful silence with his tablet-connected cameras.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Cash for a simple, boring game of angles... Camera angles.

Oh yes, the money would flow in, and he'd go home with a smile on his face with no tags or bad-ends whatsoever.

A piece of cake... Or, pizza. Better circumstantial description.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Even in the middle of the day, it was hard to gaze at the nasty-appearance of a darkened, masonry-crippled, bulky giant shack they called the place, but at night, if he wasn't properly informed, he might have mistook it for a Cartel hideout.

Ah well, at least it would further dispel any wannabe 'Robbers' that would arrive at midnight to plunder the precious reserves of sauce and cheese from the kitchen, because they had apparently become the new gold here.

Why else would there be need for a night guard?

Phillip grimaced to the mere presentation of the whole situation, forget what he thought of being in the MIDDLE of it. The owner was a mysterious, weird, and anti-social old man that had become ecstatic when he had arrived the previous afternoon for the job.

He shrugged, and yanked the ignition to PARK when his car cleared the space needed to cover the little slot of the pavement.

As the headlights died, Phillip found the invasive shadow unnerving, how quickly the night repopulated the space it previously was blocked from by his car's illumination, it seemed a tad unnatural. That was one of many faults he found, but, besides the swift night, the lack of external lamps around the building, it was nothing of catastrophic importance.

He surveyed the vacant lot briefly, shuddered, and stepped up the stoop of the front entrance with new guard keys in hand.

The top of the archway had a sign reading the place's title.

FREDDIE'S PIZZA!

The words were molded with lack of maintenance, and the disturbing visage of the demented-looking bear himself, Freddie, sprung behind the letters dramatically with a happy face that just screamed about secret plots to find the viewer in their sleep.

Another trick of his mind to a harmless children's character.

But could you blame him? The children's characters ALWAYS turned up as sadistic killers in the horror games on his laptop.

Frowning at the image painted on the stone wall, he felt the key creak the now opened lock, and he stepped inside faster than he even anticipated, and shut the door behind him with a **_THWACK!_**

**_THWACK! THWACK!_**

**_THWACK!_**

THWACK...

Holy son of the lord, the joint was THAT empty?

He spiraled to view the dreary, recently cleaned, dining area of the place, the tables polished for the thousandth time of pizza remnants, chairs stacked in the back, floors... HALF, dusted.

It stunk faintly of, you guessed it, pizza, and also the cleaner fluid the custodians used to eviscerate it, most likely in a futile result.

Phillip snorted, and gazed to the stage by the side, the same stage where the creepy trio were, the only animatronics he had seen so far, and the only he wished to bare further. They all gave him an unsettling feeling naturally, they WERE disturbing and dirty, evil-looking animatronic characters that only kids in their blindness of youth could adore.

The rabbit, by what the manager had said, BONNIE, was posed with a blank gaze to the stage's side, and the giant chicken, Chica, another tidbit from the old man, had her eyes posed to the final, and most ludicrously evil-looking leader.

Freddie was the epitome of satanic appearance here, if nothing else, NOBODY, not even a cult member of said origin, could doubt the thing wasn't possessed or haunted.

Phillip always wondered if that incident on the newspaper clipping, the 87-thing, whatever it was, if THAT monstrosity did it. He was sure it did, but he was also sure it was a kid who stuck his head in its mouth or something.

How the hell ELSE would you lose a frontal lobe to a robot character?

The bupkiss of the freaks wandering about because they were 'Alive' was said to the point it annoyed him.

$120 bucks to stare at the wandering nightmare fuel every week...

Rough deal, but it would work, he knew it.

Shaking his head, Phillip brushed his black hair back, and stepped through the eerily silent tables before traversing the halls beyond. He passed a bathroom, storage, wireroom, it seemed the pizza house was a damned bunker back here...

The dark was splintered by rays of light from barely functioning ceiling lights, even bulbs hanging via wire from topside panels.

It was a mess, and it felt like so when he reentered his new 'Office' if it could be modest enough for THAT even.

The cluttered desk rattled a bit in time with the rusty, idling fan, an old, probably broken, computer was beside it, and various posters and newspaper pages were tacked to the board behind it.

Coming from the right door, he observed the two buttons on each hinge by the exits.

DOOR.

LIGHTS.

Phillip gave a disappointed look, and gazed to his swivel chair with the camera tablet literally dumped in the seat for him.

He grunted, testing the doors and lights, and flinching when the doors smacked shut each time.

"Well, seems alright. Though..." As he snatched up the tablet and looked at the power-meter for... THE WHOLE BUILDING?!

Wait, hold the phone-

"STOP, RIGHT THERE!" He finished the line verbally. "-What, does the power company siphon all the energy from THIS dump specifically?! AND ONLY AT NIGHT?!" He found himself barking, he checked the doors subconsciously for such, than swung back to the tablet.

"Oh no... Aw hell no." He muttered, reaching into his back pocket of his lower uniform, he retrieved what was an Iphone, and began to tap into the internet.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Wiping sweat from his brow, Phillip sat back as the generator in the back of the office thrummed in a somewhat healthy display, and he snatched the wire-box shut again.

He smiled, and patted the side of his phone musingly.

"Thanks Wiki-Help..."

Stepping back towards his chair, he bent to retrieve the tablet, and flipped through several of the rooms on the grayscale cameras.

Some of the freaky dudes had moved while he had worked, and with a squint, he noticed the rabbit, Bonnie, the one he always chastised about having a girl's name, standing at least a hall away from the office.

Normally he would have considered the thing pointlessly wandering, but the way the animatronic angled at his door silently, not moving... It didn't feel right. He blinked, shook his head, and flipping through a few more images before a dark blotch caught his eye.

Snapping to look up at the right door, the one he'd come from, he saw a disfigurement in the shadow...

Oh crap.

Pretending to be oblivious, he kept one eye on the shape, and flipped through all the cameras, he checked all the entrances, and found them undisturbed.

So then, who/what was outside the-?

"Where's quackers?" He muttered, doing a last sift through the rooms, even Pirate Cove with its closed curtain still hiding the 'Off Limits' thing his manager wouldn't allow him to see.

He stood and stepped over to the door, squinting, before flicking the light button.

He yipped in surprise from the ajar mouth of indeed the damned giant chicken, and Chica stared at his general direction aimlessly, posed to enter the office. Now THAT wasn't normal, these things were supposed to be wandering around because of robotic systems... Not lying in wait for him to stop looking.

Phillip gulped, reading the 'LET'S EAT!' on her bib, before he angled closer to the door switch.

"Alright, let's eat..." He growled.

**_CLICK_**

**_THUNK!_**

"Hope you like door."

-0-0-0-0-0-

The silent treatment had gone pretty well for awhile, but now that Phillip's suspicion was up, he noticed that dreary blotch, but outside the now closed doorway, but from the window next to it.

He felt an eye twitch, and he rolled his chair over to flick the lights there on again.

Indeed, the chicken grinned back at him through the flash.

Once again, he jumped in fright from the scene, huffed angrily.

"Would you just... GO AWAY!" He made a shooing motion, finding himself a tad crazy for talking to the robot.

When she didn't move, he growled and flipped his hand upwards, middle-digit protruding in its facing center, before rolling the chair back to the center of the office. He didn't need to be prim and proper in here either way.

Checking the tablet again, he disregarded the movements of the freakish rabbit and the bear, but did notice the curtain at Pirate Cove had shifted a tad. He squinted at the screen, seeing what appeared to be a hook-head, the mere sharp tip, jutting from the curtain's part.

There was ANOTHER of these psycho killer, walking Sega rejects there TOO?!

Phillip swallowed, and glanced to the window again.

"Oh for God's sake..." He stood bolt upright, taking the time to check the other door, before he stomped over to the window, leaned over the desk, and still saw the outline of the deranged chick.

Why he did what he did... Well, he would later blame it on his lack of knowing the truth, but he still thought it was dumb.

His fist hit the door button, and the thing vanished above as he stepped partially into the hall.

"Stupid gear-head..." He snapped lowly, and went about looking for a pair of gloves to physically push her back to the stage if needed.

However, he stopped dead, when a groaning gurgle echoed down the hall, and he heard the sifting of ragged fur.

He stopped dead, back turned to the animatronic.

Not good.

Welp, guess the theory of them not being possessed, all of the BUPKISS talk just flew down the toilet.

He turned to the thing, slowly, turtle-like, and watched as the head was facing his direction.

A moment of silence, and his feet began to carry him to the office.

_Just take it slowly... No sudden-_

"OHMYFRIGGINJESUSHELPME!"

The bird animatronic extended its wing-like arms in his direction, its nasty maw opened and it screamed like a murderer in a horror movie, before its ragged feet pumped towards him.

Phillip flipped like a cartwheeling school-girl, tumbled back inside the office and dove for the door button.

He was a tad too slow, and the monster wailed in his face, its BREATH, of all things, smelling of death and dust. He screeched like a child, and he grabbed the first thing he could think of nearby...

**_CLANK!_**

The rusty fan shattered over the thing's head, and the pieces skittered everywhere off of him, it, and the floor. The crazed demon bird staggered back, and, feeling bold, he jabbed his heel out in a jerk, putting a shoe-mark on its gut before he slammed the door down.

Growling and gurgling outside, before staggered, frustrated steps carried the thing away.

A look of shock, dismay, questioning of reality, permanently masked his features, and, mouth still agape, he ran over to the other side of the room, tripping over his chair as he went, and snapped the light on.

He screamed again when the purple hare of death grinned back at him, and that door sealed off too.

Phillip shook, quaked, and whined like a fearful mutt, he scrambled across the floor for the tablet and turned it on.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, 4 AM?!" He shrieked. "-I'M GONNA DIE AND YOU CAN'T MAKE TIME GO BY FASTER?!"

He cycled the camera images again, seeing the killer chicken and even her rabbit partner had positioned on the stage again beside the rabid bear. He shook a little with relief.

The other rooms proved empty, and the cursed curtain of the cove had sifted a little more.

Just barely audible was the pair of eyes behind the thing, the hook coming out more.

Phillip groaned in regret.

No wonder that frag-job of a owner hired him, he was the latest victim! The next toss into the demonic food bowl!

Oooooh... He was going to KILL the wrinkled bastard when this was over... If he LIVED, of course.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was 5 am, and Phillip watched as the rabbit/chicken kill team stalked outside the windows in intervals, he curled tighter in his chair, repeatedly checking the tablet for the time.

This was insane, he was trapped in his own office by man-eating animatronics, and the manager was paying $120 dollars to taunt the unheeded sharks. It was either a thousand dollar raise, or he was quitting... AFTER beating the crap out of the manager first, of course.

Sweat dripped off of him, and he somehow wished that annoying fan, that now was in pieces on the floor, was here to work as it always did, at least there'd be SOME form of idle noise in the deathly quiet office.

He wiped his forehead.

If only he had seen this fine-text of being taken up on the spot, Phillip found himself chastising his previous thoughts of this 'Easy' job. This wasn't boring and uneventful anymore, this was a matter of his being ripped apart by apparently demonic animatronics.

The cameras flipped through each room with speed, his finger dancing across the screen with hurried flicks. All of his prior problems, three to be exact, continued their lingering in every corner of the place, and every now-and-again, their eyes would be turned to the lens of the camera observing them.

Phillip had never been a pyro in his life, but he wished he had a flamethrower, like, NOW.

"I'd burn your asses..." He growled subconsciously. "Then, for good measures I douse the singing ashes in holy-wate-OHSHIT!"

The young man stood bolt upright when he watched Pirate Cove again, the only room the other animatronics were avoiding, and he had a good idea why that was.

When he saw the ajar curtains, the out-of-order sign pushed aside, the growing darkness that once housed whatever fourth, final monstrosity lived in here, seeming to mock him that the last butcher was on its way... Phillip almost soiled himself. ALMOST.

Patting his backside to check anyway, he swallowed, and swung his gaze to the left door.

**_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP_**

"Oh, not good, not good, NOT GOOD!"

Sprinting to the door, the rapid-paced footfalls outside the hall ceased, and he would've felt relief if it WASN'T ceasing the noise right outside the door.

He squeaked like a fearful toddler, and pressed his body to the metal in some vain attempt too-

Wait, these doors opened into the ceiling... How could he barricade it if the thing outside could just lift-?

Right as his brow raised to his own ignorance, his world rushed past as whatever flung the door open tossed him a foot away into the OTHER metal entry. A loud bang of impacted metal, and the poor, unsuspecting guard's body flattened, and stuck, to the now dented horizontally opposite entry for a good ten seconds, before he crumpled to the floor silently.

"Ow..." Phillip muffled into the concrete.

A pealing sound of pressed skin was heard as he detached his face from the ground, shook his head, and stumbled towards the tablet beside his toppled chair.

"Must... M-make sure... Others, didn't..." He uttered between the pain in his skull. "-MOVE."

However, just as Phillip apprehended the tablet, shook it to light the screen again, his finger came to a grinding halt midway to the surface, his eye twitched, his mind went blank. He just recalled the reason why he was partially delirious, and for that, he was no longer delirious.

He snapped up to look at the frozen animatronic in the doorway, and he let his jaw clench as the monster resembled a deer in headlights. Honestly if the thing wasn't so... Beat up, there wasn't another word he could make at the moment, it might have been an interesting sight.

It resembled a lupine, a fox, more so, its ears were suspended via stilt-structure from openings in its head, a ragged eye-patch covered a still-present right eye, and its fur looked matted in some areas, material was torn away to reveal the machinery beneath.

The fox blinked with metal-looking lids to him, and cast a quick glace about the office.

Phillip wasn't breathing this whole time, but, despite his panicky, rushing mind, he figured if the thing wanted to kill him, it wouldn't beat-around the bush with a 'Nice Oblivious' treatment, these animatronics seemed just sadistic, it would have torn into him already.

With a gulp he noted its right wrist ended in a hook, a sickly parody of a pirate one.

When it noted his staring, what could be described a darker hue took on its face, and the hook gradually lost sight behind its hip.

Speaking of hips, for an ugly, hell-induced, mindless killer, a brute, the animatronic seemed very... He wanted to say GIRLY, but he supposed the professional term was FEMININE.

Damn him and his intellectual ways.

Phillip felt his knees struggle as he stood, both from kneeling for so long, and from fear, as he did so, the animatronic jumped a bit, and took a step out of the doorway.

He took a step back himself.

"U-uh..." He swallowed, and found his speech not working. "-Um-H-Hiii-" He slapped a palm over his mouth at his attempted greeting.

Holy God he sounded like that alien cartoon character, Stitch, that he watched as a child! That was just creepy, and the last thing he needed was to provoke this... CREATURE, before him.

Ironically, to his shock, the fox drew back its mechanical chops, upwards, and... SMILED. A shifting sound matched its lightly bucking shoulders, and the hook it had pressed to the tip of its snout before it stopped short, eyed the hook, and reapplied the metal prosthetic behind itself again.

Good grief it GIGGLED at him?!

What now, impending murder was CUTE to them?

Even if that sort of vibe wasn't emanating from the particular fox facing him, it certainly gave off enough display from its outside appearance. Obviously, the old lessons his mother taught him of 'Never Judge of Book by its Cover' just HAD to end up helping in a near death instance, right?

Seriously, this beat-up, decrepit and dirty animatronic could come off as a serial killer in an animal suit if it/he/she, whatever it was, didn't fold like a cheap lawnchair at this strange understanding, or whatever you'd call this.

Nevertheless, Phillip got past a minute amount of the shock/fear factor, and took the time to size the neutral beast up.

Quite, it had the hips of a full younger female, a human woman which... Kind of creeped him out. Its torso was curved, in an hourglass figure, whatever form of mammary that existed or didn't on its chest was obscured, heavily so beneath a thrice-wrapped seal of medical tape, probably something scrounged from an office.

Now convinced it was a female, Phillip took a steady breath, and figured he was at least a TAD lucky ONE of the four freaks wasn't trying to eat him.

With frozen, defensively posed arms, he stumbled slowly to his chair, pretending the fox wasn't staring at him the whole time, held his tablet firmly, and creaked the suspension as he sat. Taking a glance at the idle appearing animatronic every now and again, he flicked the camera visions one after the other, and found the three hadn't moved, and it was around 5:35 at night.

Just... TWENTY-FIVE minutes... Thank the lord...

Leaning back with a sigh of relief, he felt the sudden enwrapping feeling of warmth and fuzziness to be soothing more than anything, and an satisfied grin of relaxation-

His eyes snapped open, bulging.

Filling his vision to the gap was nothing but darkened red/orange fur, a patch of which was gone to show a internal piston beneath. He twitched, and didn't bother to meet the fox's quick glance to his face, scalp pressed to her belly, before she returned to gazing curiously at the tablet's screen, claw and hook leaning to the chair's top.

Phillip couldn't move, and the fox seemed to sense this, as she backed away to stare silently.

The chair creaked again, relieved from her weight, and stopped in the center of the office, Phil moving without resistance to the chair's rolling travels.

His vision locked to the fox, the animatronic shifted on its feet, drawing a circle in the dusty concrete with its left paw, and crossed its arms over itself in a somewhat self-protective gesture. A raspy vocalized parody of what resembled speech, made him jump upright to gaze at the ajar left door fearfully.

At first, he thought it was the gurgling chicken or the rabbit, but when nothing turned up, he looked at the fox again to see its bolt-hinged jaw quivering a little, its voice sounded like a hissing, broken speaker from an old Matchbox car dropped on the floor too many times by a toddler.

**_"H-Hell-hell-o..."_**

A spark of electricity jumped from a joint on its chest, and with an annoyed huff, she reared back with a bunched fist.

Phillip tightened, and then, the miraculous happened.

**BEEP BEEP BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP BEEP BEEP**

**BEEP**

The guard's eyes swung to the tablet as the God-sent 6 am marking flashed to his screen innocently.

A smile on his face, and when he looked up to possibly see the end result of a monster caught in the sun, like catching fire or melting or something, he was greeted with an empty office, the gradual patter of softening footfalls down the hall.

A bird chirped outside.

Phillip felt like one of the 'Programmed' though that was debated now, animatronics he had almost been killed by as he silently grabbed his things, stowed the tablet, opened the doors, and walked through the lobby to the main entrance.

He locked the door, and stepped into his car, sitting in the driver's seat.

A moment more of quiet, and he started the vehicle, eyed the building again. Coughed. Straightened his uniform.

And SCREAMED.

He screamed so loud in that stupid 1980 Ford, that if there were people anywhere near that lot, they would have heard him. He screamed to the point he hacked and lost his voice the rest of the morning, and still, a raspy air-sound left his gapped, rattling jaws for another five minutes.

The car backed out with a screech of rubber on pavement, and barreled out to the road.

Phillip didn't leave his locked room all day at home. When the mailman came with a package, he was asked by a idle, dead-sounding man from an ajar second-floor window to leave it at the stoop. When he did so, he got back to his truck only to hear the door snap open, and two quaking hands snag the package inside.

A click of a lock, thudding of impacted stairs, and the same second floor window slammed shut, that locked too.

The mailman uttered curses upon believers in the apocalypse and stopped at the next house with three letters in hand.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

I'm Still Here, Problem? Talk to my Attorney.

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"It appears a spec is on the lens outside. Send the rookie to remove it. Why you ask? Because big problems come in small packages, or, in this case, blind spots."_**

**_-Writ 2 of Surveillance. _**

Darkness always was a welcome thing at bedtime, it kept you asleep, allowed your mind to wander while you snored like an running truck in the muffled confines of a pillow, and it just had this aura of quiet that took away from daily stress.

Normally, he appreciated darkness during sleep.

Normally, he found it easily bypassed during the day.

However, NORMALLY, Phillip wasn't quaking in terror to the possibility of an evil, demonic, robotic stuffed animal coming from under his bed and tearing him apart.

In the end, he had been forced to drug himself in order to rest, basically, having slipped three herbal pills down his throat with a quaking hand that made more of his cupped water end up on his shirt than in his mouth. He choked on at least one of the pills, hacked it up where it stuck to the mirror of the bathroom, and he'd scraped it off and retaken it anyway.

His mind was fuzzy when he woke that morning, so by the time he finished inspecting his house for animatronic murderers, swallowed a cereal bar in one bite, and was awake enough to see his job started in three hours, the antics of attempted rest were forgotten.

The first thought in his mind was how he could possibly survive in that dump again, now that the furry freakjobs KNEW he was working there, they were bound to up-the-attack the more he showed. And besides, why in hell's name would he go back?!

Blatantly, you'd have to be some moron to simply put a dumb grin on your face, shrug, and waltz back inside the pizza-palace-o' death, with the saying of 'Oh well! Times are hard!'

Yeah, YEAH! Times are hard you piece of rotten garbage! REALLY hard! Especially with your body being torn to shreds and you slowly bleeding to death while you WATCH monsters EAT YOUR INTERNALS! YEP! Difficult cycles to put god-damned bread on the table, RIGHT?!

WHO NEEDS ORGANS ANYWAY?! I GOT A CHECK FOR MININUM WAGE! I'M VALUED!

Dang his conscience and its mental rants.

"Frag you karma ," Phillip growled as he slammed the door to his car. "And up-yours economy."

He was going to have a word with this... This MANAGER, as he called himself, about what it meant to have your face broken. For, by the time Phillip pulled into the parking space of the joint, his tires screeched to a halt inches before the curb.

Snatching hold of his uniform, he dashed for the door, fists pumping by his sides.

"BOSS!" He barked, the door swung aside, revealing the emptied internals of the building, the same menacing threesome standing idle on the stage.

"Boss get out here!"

Phillip waited another minute before the rather short, and pudgy little old man rounded the corner from the kitchen in the back, he rubbed his ear with an annoyed expression.

"Your yelling why? Precisely?"

"BECAUSE YOU ALMOST GOT ME EATEN!"

Phillip even surprised himself with how loud he belted his boss, and the old man flailed like a piece of newspaper caught in a bad breeze while stuck to a streetlamp.

He blinked, shook his wrinkled head to clear it, and gazed towards the animatronics.

"Eaten, you say?" The manager muttered.

"YES! TORN TO PIECES! FEASTED ON BY THE SONS OF HELL!"

"Quite prophetic, Mr. Linn! You should by the new scribe for Freddy's-!"

"OOOOOHHH NO," The rabid security guard snarled. "-You aren't hood-winking me with any more paranormal paratrooper jobs, you prune!"

If phased by his insults, the old man didn't show it, he simply rubbed the stubble beneath his chin, adjusted the belly-button high trousers he wore, and jabbed a finger to the animatronics.

A disappointed expression worn his face, and he seemed to be chastising the robots, not PHILLIP.

"I expected they'd be dormant for some time..."

"WH-WHAT-I-?!" Phillip stammered, shook like an after tremor of an earthquake, and stopped himself with a heave of breath.

He cleared his throat, and regained composure.

"You better start talking before you see the inside of your own skull via my fist."

"Calm down, Mr. Linn, I'll walk you through..." The manager whispered the last part, a brow raised to the animatronics. "-In DETAIL."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Their old, Mr. Linn, VERY, very old. My retired engineer, all the way in Chicago, believed the actual suits were pieced together around the 50's, though which exact date or," Phillip's boss shook his head, and smacked an old newspaper down on the roof of his desk. "-Precisely who, or WHAT, did that piecing together, I couldn't tell you."

At least Phil had calmed down a bit more, and sipped an iced coffee the manager insisted he have for free, he nodded to the newspaper clipping on the cluttered desk from his stance in the chair facing it.

The office was small, walls covered in dusty, aged World War 2 and Swing propaganda, the lights from the ceiling were wire hung, naked bulbs, even the wood of the desk was wearing down, a garden chair was the guest seat facing it.

Said chair creaked as the guard leaned forwards.

"What's with the article?"

The manager looked thoughtful, smiled sadly.

"The Bite of 87', c'mon Phillip." He chuckled sarcastically in tease. "Its the closest inkling we have to our friends' outside and their real nature."

"There ain't nothing NATURAL, here, man..." Phillip snapped, interrupting himself mid sip of the coffee.

"Allow me to ask, about last night," His boss asked, unphased by the prior speech. "Which ones gave you trouble?"

"Too the point, eh gramps?"

The manager snorted in response.

"Well let's see, I had the bird, the rabbit and-" He stopped mid-sentence, debating now, heavily, of the importance of what information he gave out.

Figuring on the odds that the manager was trying to help, as, with what he'd explained earlier, now questioned Phillip's desire to quit and leave others to pay for his fear, the elder couldn't be setting him up... This was advice, and he needed to know the truth.

At least... That's what Phillip processed.

He could always crack some heads in case of a betrayal.

"-Uh... T-the F-Fox, the Fox showed up too."

"Really?" For the strangest of reasons, the elder seemed... Intrigued, no, more like FASCINATED with that last statement, the other two didn't get anywhere near a reaction.

"So... What does that mean?"

"A very peculiar development, Mr. Linn. Bonnie and Chica are the most active, their harassing of you last night is not surprising, however... The old girl hasn't been active in... Well, around a decade."

Phillip raised a brow, and leaned in closer to the article still laying across the desk, indeed, the picture in the center of the frame, black and white, dulled but discernible, was of a less rough-looking Foxy being locked up in that booth, a medical vehicle parked outside the building.

He gulped, and stared at his boss.

"You knew it was a... SHE?"

"Oh yes-"

"And SHE was responsible for the 87' thing?"

The manager sighed, and was quiet for a short while, the cushioned, retro-styled chair behind the desk squeaked as he sat in it sluggishly, and with haste.

Folding his hands, interlocking fingers, he nodded to the outside of the office.

"Aye. Aye she did it. There's no use hiding it, ole' Foxy practically caved in that man's forehead, put him in a vegetative state..."

The young man suddenly found the headache from yesterday's screaming fit returning, but this time, for stress, confusion. He rubbed his right palm over his face, and realized he had probably been... SOCIALIZING, with a ploy.

Because he believed one of the animatronics had some form of good... It-or, rather, SHE, had tricked him into false trust.

"Crap..." He mumbled. "-I don't understand... She seemed so... Uh, I dunno-"

"Not like the others? Shy? A bit TOO human?"

Phillip shut his jaw and shook his head in an affirmative. The senior leaned forwards a bit, rapping a knuckle to the newspaper.

"That's my point. Its always been my point, not to just you NOW, but she didn't do it out of free will. It seemed she didn't know how else too... DRAG that man away from... Whatever had him."

"Drag?"

"Of course the papers and the journalists screwed up the truth, their reporters, it's in their blood. That animatronic, despite the end results, probably saved that man from a very grisly end."

The manager eyed the office window, seeing the gradual descent of shadow, the lackluster sunlight failing to flood into the rooms to a darker state still.

Crickets began to sing outside, and likewise with their tune, he raised a finger to the stage with the three-freak band in the back.

"They still haven't let her live that down." He pointed out. "-Look, Mr. Linn, I can't force you to keep this job, much less make you risk your life against your will... But you are the only capable person within the tri-state area, and, that's a fact."

Phillip leaned his head back, and growled in agitation to his already realized situation, he didn't even flinch when the manager laid an early check in his previously coffee-holding hand.

Welp, pay for being the nobleman who kept some other poor schmuck in the world from getting brutalized. Looks like America had a new martyr...

"Look, boss, you keep the fixes I made on that-that, GOD-AWFUL generator you taped up back there, and you up the checks, give me tips to control these freaks... I'll do it. I have nothing else."

"Please, Mr. Linn," The old man shook his hand gruffly when the renewed guard stood. "-Call me Matt."

-0-0-0-0-0-

When the sun vanished, the tendrils of black swept inside Freddy's like an ocean of ink, and Phillip thought he broke the buttons on the doors for how hard and fast he punched them.

When the building settled in its usual grim silence, lights flickered as always, the camera in the restrooms was the dead one tonight, and the office was eerily quiet, since that rickety fan was still in pieces in the trash bin.

Curling up tighter in a near fetal-position on the chair, he flipped through the tablet views a few times, practically scrunching his face up in despair when the trio of death began to sift around when his eyes left them.

What the hell? What was he THINKING?

Yeah, true, all he had to do was sit behind the locked doors, watch some possessed robots walk about on their own, maybe have a staring contest with one through the windows, but with God as his witness, this was just UNLIKE him.

If Matt hadn't explained things the way he did, Phil would've told the geezer to go scratch! Sod off! Get some stupid town boob to do it...

Yep, the image of him sitting in this freaking chair with a pointy dunce-hat flashed for a millisecond, before the stress and tension was relieved a bit through his 'Figures' expression to the wall ahead.

Idly, he flicked the lights on both doors, and saw nothing to the left. The right one came on, and even though he was safe, he still jumped in his seat, his heart leapt, when the waling chicken came to view in the window, mouth ajar in a creepy smile, eyes to him.

Holding his chest, Phillip cursed and buried his nose in the tablet.

"Feathered-bitch... Go back to the poultry-farm... Jesus..." He muttered.

Similarly, when Chica departed about twenty minutes later, he flipped the left light on, jumped a bit again, and scowled at the smiling killer hare.

"Silly rabbit, doors keep out pricks!" He rapped a knuckle on the metal, and yanked out a magazine from under the desk.

Very quickly, being locked in the office began to grow boring, albeit better than walking around out THERE, but nonetheless, to say the least, Phillip was using his hands to reenact a fantasy sword battle amid his recline in the chair by 2 am.

"Pew... Ch-chank... Ching!" The worst sword impressions left him, and he did a fake, low-volume death scream as his left hand twitched and fell to a crumpled heap on his lap.

"I have defeated you, vile Baron-!" As he spoke in a English accent, he checked the lights again, gave Bonnie a raspberry followed by a quick "Shit face!" before resuming his imaginary movie lines.

The play grew old too, and he tried to use his imagination, switch the scenes up, he thought of space battles, larger scale modern warfare, Shakespearian plays, mysteries, comedy... ANYTHING to keep him preoccupied.

While Phillip sung an old 1910's song he had heard on an Xbox game he used to play, his vocals went silent when he checked the tablet.

**_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK_**

His brow twitched, and he sighed audibly when the door thudded three times.

Indeed, the good old curtain in Pirate Cove was hastily pushed aside, and the last inhabitant that now at 3 am, he hadn't heard from until now, was missing from her usual spot.

Flicking the light on outside the window, he saw the nervous stance of a shadow flinch under the sudden illumination, a tail flicked in agitation before said animatronic stuck her head in front of the window, and gave a brief toothy grin.

**_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK_**

"Alright-Alright... Keep your shoes on..." He said, stepping from the chair, he gave a last check around his visitor, and went for the door button. Stopping briefly, he remembered WHY Foxy had been responsible for that bite, gave a quick prayer, and pressed the glyph slowly.

The door creaked open, and the rough-looking animatronic ducked inside with a quick motion, standing after the frame, centerwise the office as he shut the entry again.

"H-Hi..." He greeted, once again, awkwardly, waving a hand. "Um, how can I help you? Uh... Foxy?"

The creature's ears rose to him addressing her by name, even the eye-patch flipped to stand straight up over the still-usable eye it always laid atop.

Holding her hook in her palm, Foxy began to open her chops again, and he heard that strange sound of a broken toy car once more, the whining of a malfunctioning voicebox. Phillip couldn't decipher a word that garbled out, and Foxy looked at him, then the floor, and grumbled.

Rearing her fist back like the previous night, she actually had time too, and DID complete the action.

Phillip raised a brow and drew back his head a bit when the animatronic literally reared back her balled hand, and belted herself in the throat.

A clank of metal, her eyes bugged, a spark of light by her clavicle, and static hissed from her partly ajar maw.

She made a cleared throat noise, stretched her head and neck, and shook them for good effect.

Phillip watched this a tad worriedly.

What the heck was THAT?

"**_H-HELL-HELLO-_**Hello... H-Human." Foxy gradually overcame the machine-like drabble of her tone, and Phillip startled at how HUMAN she sounded.

Roughly, she had the vocals of say a twenty-five, thirty year old female, pretty good seeing as she was technically older than most women lived, she appeared giddy at having spoken to him, and he noted so.

"S-So you CAN talk." He stuttered

"Y-yes... I can... I can talk." She struggled.

With the ever-present fact that as of right now, he probably resembled the most INSANE person on Earth by now, Phillip found his talking to the animatronic a tad bit high on the weirdness meter.

For the entire time of his dayjobs here, he'd never SEEN Foxy this... Directly, he had heard of an existence in the Cove booth, some kind of off-limits equipment or information, whatever... Until now, though, he hadn't known that WHATEVER was an animatronic.

Phillip couldn't help trying to keep his distance, in a polite shuffle of small, unreadable movements, he gathered distance towards his chair.

"U-um... How long, have you been... Uh, BACK there?"

"In the Cove?"

He found her stabled speech frightening on his end, as, now the position of stuttering had switched hands.

"Yep?" He tried.

Foxy's grin faded like a departing cloud of steam, an ear drooped slightly, she made a coughing sound, which, even for a non-human he could tell was faked.

"Didn't you know?" He almost hadn't heard the meep of speech, and he immediately felt stupid for quizzing what he already knew.

"1987?" Phillip listed.

A quick, dismissive nod from the animatronic, and the conversation of that said point had concluded, he needed no vocal command. Foxy's tail swished behind her, her forearms crossed over the seal of medical tape on her torso, her eyes drank the office briefly before gluing back to him.

He still wondered what made her friendly from the others.

"I guess y-you and your buddies have been... ACTIVE, for awhile, then?"

The bolts on her jaw-hinges whined from the force of being clenched, the hook she always hid behind her back flashed briefly to vision to flip the little eye-patch, still sprung, back down.

"I don't have 'Buddies', human..." He supposed his questions would begin to agitate her sooner or later, he tested the buttons satisfyingly well in results to her annoyed tone.

"I take it the trio-of-death exiled you? In some way?"

A tiny hint of laughter from the fox's smile, but that was wiped away as she narrowed her one visible eye to him, her ears lay back.

"I take it, YOU'RE RIGHT." She grumbled. "-Know why?"

That countered query gave a smug grin on her end, and Phillip found the newly conversational atmosphere enough to forget his prior actions of limited distance. The chair squeaked as he sat in it, he raised a brow to her.

"I have an inkling."

"I'm a traitor because I talk to YOU, the only people I've ever related too... Are HUMANS, of all things..." Foxy had a face of resentment to her, her shoulders balled, forearms clenched tighter in her self-protective manner.

Yet, her answer gave him interest.

"You've talked to humans before?"

"Dumb, right?" She snickered with venom. "Matthew held good discussions of my innocence... That man with the wrench... He moved away. He used to talk to me about my prior years..."

"The mechanic dude in Chicago?" He blurted.

"Mechanic... DUDE?" She obviously had no idea what that word meant, and her head cocked with wide, quizzing eyes, arms drooping to her hips.

Alright, now that oblivious reaction was pretty funny, and he snickered against his will to the sight of it, leaving a bewildered Foxy to glare awkwardly. Her tail flicked, and Phillip composed himself.

"I heard he's in another state."

"Figures..."

"Well, if your so upset over the two of them blowing you off why did you come to me?"

Foxy frowned at him, and laid a knuckle to her waist.

"Are YOU going to leave as well?" She asked without a hint of punishment or insult, she incited an honest tone, like a factual lecture from a college professor, and that too was just bothersome coming from the living robotic suit.

"No, I'm here for-"

"It gives us both something to do RIGHT?"

"Uhhhh... I guess-"

"And it keeps my 'Buddies' from even peeping through the glass-" She stepped to a window, and tapped it with her hook, stowing it behind promptly as usual. "-RIIIIGGGHHHTT?"

Phillip pouted, in no further mood to be interjected.

"Then I don't see a problem." She shrugged.

The weight of the whole thing came down on him then, like a big, freshly manufactured penny added the benefit of a good polishing, flicked off the Empire-State Building by a set of fingers, and then smacking him upside the head deftly.

Yet after such an elaborate little explanation, the same tiny little fact continued to smug inanely.

He just came back to the Chuck-E-Cheese-rip, axe-murdering foster home for quite-real monstrosities for the SOLE purpose of saving some other dumb ass from its grasp, and now, he was having a CIVIL DEBATE, with a member of said monstrosities.

God damn it, someone just HAD to have slipped meth or something in his breakfast.

This was just... Yikes.

"O-Okay..." His head spun, and with a stumbling few steps, he sat in the chair once more to steady his quaking world. "-I-I guess just... Do... SOMETHING, and I'll... I'll be the innocent guard and look PRETTY."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Do humans still use au... aut-autom... Ugh..."

"CARS?"

"Maybe?"

"Yeah I drive one to get here."

"What does it look like?"

"I dunno, its a Ford... Its blue."

"..."

"What?"

Foxy had the left portion of her chops angled upwards in an expression that just jabbed fingers of 'Your cheap' towards him, she raised a brow and huffed.

It was already 4 am, and the animatronic hadn't ceased her volleys of quizzes, questions and queries of his OWN personal opinions on said things. Phillip hadn't explained what a College Campus was to ANYONE before in such detail...

Nor a truck. Or a bus.

Or a plane.

Or an elk.

Or Black-Tie Mouse Cake...

To say the conversation jumbled about was an understatement.

Finally, he continued to notice Foxy's unimpressed glaring.

"WHAT?" He asked louder. Again, she made that shuffling little giggle she had apparently trademarked to him within the two nights of seeing her, and it was clear she found him evidently amusing.

"So now I'm funny?" Phillip grunted.

She nodded her head with a paw covering her snout, eyes closed from the comedic wracks of her shoulders.

"Funny as in 'Hoo hah!' or funny as in 'OMG Lolzers?'" She didn't know what either of those meant, but the funky way he accented both of these alien words was enough for her to snort more laughing, she slowly doubled over, and her hook was struggling to stay hidden.

"Oh that's golden!" Phillip snickered. "Just call me Dr. Phil! Only I don't solve mental problems, I cause them."

Foxy made a choking hack, and the office became the one source of sound in the whole building as the animatronic's balling laughter echoed faintly from behind the closed doors and windows, she banged her fist into the desk she stood near, and went to leaning an elbow.

Phillip, although initially startled by the reaction to his poor puns, found a grin creeping across his face whilst she cracked herself up, and strangely, he took pride in the way he had made her react.

She struggled to find a word to say, chuckled a bit more, and held a paw up to him.

"I-I was-" A cackle. "-I was originally staring a-at you, because your descriptions were so..." Foxy took a deep, heavenly breath to calm herself, a wide smile still on her as she resumed. "-So blunt, vague and bland. I haven't seen outside in..."

Phillip tilted his head when her jubilancy simmered out of her like a drainpipe, that nice little smile on her just creased, ever-so slowly out of sight, obscured by a thin line, her eyes sort of glistened with sudden guilt.

Foxy returned to her timid self the second the atmosphere of reality was given a split-moment opportunity to reenter.

She once again self-consciously, and most likely without really noticing, hid her hook behind her hip again, her chin lowered, nearly pressing to her collar. Phillip became grim at the mere sight.

"-In around... Twenty years."

Shyly, she shifted on her feet, and even though the security guard had much to adjust too, he figured that the old coot up in the office, Matt, was a tad right about this animatronic. He figured if there was anyone who was going to help him contain the freaky trio locked in here, it was her.

It was the ex-freaky trio member that was his key.

"W-Well, I'll be more... In-depth, from now on. Alright?"

Foxy was silent a moment more, and nodded barely.

Phillip had long stopped keeping an eye on her to make sure this whole 'Friendship' or whatever, wasn't an act to impale him with that claw of hers, he refocused on the tablet, checking the other cameras, though, he noted that quackers wasn't in her usual spots... Again.

He grumbled.

"Hey uh... Fox'?"

Her ears perked up to his hail, and he gestured to the window she leaned near.

"You know how the buttons work, right?"

"Mmhmm." She made near inaudibly, still dulled from before.

"Hit the one that says, LIGHT."

Her suspicion rose to that one, her brow raised, and she stepped over to the panel, eyeing the window with a dangerously venomous stare, she seemed angry, but not in the overly stereotypical way. Her forehead didn't indent, she didn't bare fangs, no growl...

The animatronic just held this cold, blank, icy stare with wide eyes almost daring the suspected felon to enter with her inside.

She clicked the button, and Phil naturally jumped a little in his seat.

Indeed Chica stood there in all her strange, ugly, double-jawed wonder, beak parted and vision plastered to the poor guard's general direction, though, it seemed to shift lightly to the scary appearing Foxy.

Phillip's eye twitched as the animatronic let loose a thrum in her throat, a growl, finally, but one that actually sounded animalistic.

The demonic bird actually moved while this transpired, her mouth flexing in a biting motion, a dirtied palm drew across the glass in a squeak of movement. Chica gave off a gurgling noise.

"I-Its safe to assume... She's calling you out, r-right?"

Foxy said nothing, and began a trot to the door.

"W-wait! Don't do that-!"

Phillip had attempted to rise to stop her, but with so little effort, that it frightened him, Foxy's paw snatched to his chest, stopping dead mid-rise, and a flick of her fingers, he plopped back down into the chair with a blank visage.

"A-All right... I tried."

"QUEIT." She snapped, jamming a knuckle into the door's opening button.

It was instantaneous, really, Chica's sluggish, sometimes nonexistent movement vanished in a flurry of yellow as the killer bird swung herself to lunge around the bend of the window's corner at her outcast kin.

The lupine animatronic took said leap head on, and Phillip watched with a yip of surprise as that dastardly looking hook she always hid, with now even MORE apparent reason, swept in a dash of red fur and shimmering, rusty metal.

Chica gave a harsh hacking sound, a portion of matted fur on her gut vanished in the hook's arc, so fast, that it was torn clean off, alongside a thin trail of sparks from impacted steel.

She recoiled, and the angry fox leaned back with her balled claw, and, much to his pleasantly comedic surprise, wailed an upper-cut on the bird like a furious ninja-gal in one of those kung-fu movies belted some douchebag villain.

Needless to say, Chica's head flapped back like a ragdoll, from his distance, even HE could see her fake eyes spin loops in her head.

Foxy only pressed as the foe stumbled back towards the hall she came, the hook sung again, and a yellow, fur covered shoulder was torn bare with its joint-like interior.

"Come back with more bite, bitch!"

Foxy's speech gave the human a face one could only describe as a small child hearing their parent scream out a profane jumble of queen-mothers precariously combined into some sentence that used said F-bomb in multiple instances.

A mouthful, but Phillip's lipline grew to the size of a penny, appearing as a '.' shape.

"I'll smack your ass harder than ole' Bonn' EVER could in your romps! You damn-!"

**_CRASH!_**

Foxy's further rant was cut off as Chica tumbled over a metal drawer set down the hall, frantically flipping about with flailing limbs to escape.

So now, derogatory terms of the feminine sex spewed forth from a perturbed member of said gender, who, you know, happened to be an animatronic living robotic suit.

Well, whatever. It was still pretty cool when the grumbling lupine stomped back inside the office, the fur atop her head frazzled, her ear-coat similarly messed, and prior structures angled in opposite directions in a lowered state.

Steam was practically venting from her flared nostrils and her ears.

Acutely, she watched without really seeing, her claw slapping the button to close the door, as Phillip slowly peaked his head from behind the chair.

"Y-You..." He stuttered. "-I-is she g-gone?"

Foxy grunted something unintelligible.

"G-good..." He grinned. Then he frowned again. "Remind me to never grind-your gears, demon-lady."

"Stupid DIKE..." She spat, possibly HALF hearing him.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

The Night Shift's My Duty, I Just have Company.

-0-0-0-0-0-

**_"You're telling me the west hall unit hasn't been on for an entire minute? First off, Rob, you are fired. Jenson, barricade the door and hand me my blunderbuss."_**

**_-Writ 3 of Surveillance. _**

"You make it sound like this... Um... Er, what did you call it?"

"Atomic Fireballs."

"Right, A-tom-ic, Fireballs..." She still struggled with the more original slang speech, yet with a tilted head, Foxy managed the words with a slight musing.

"So, you make it sound like they actually set your mouth on fire-"

"YES! They do!" Phillip laughed, his own words muffled with the cinnamon, spicy jawbreaker in his mouth. "These things will melt your face off!"

"Then why would you EAT it?!" Foxy asked worriedly, angling towards his lips slightly to perceive unseen damage.

Phillip angled away a bit, sniffed awkwardly, and chuckled nervously.

"N-Not literally, Fox'. They don't... HURT you or nothin'..."

"I..." She pouted, rather cutely, and crossed her arms over her chest to raise a brow at him. Shifting weight, she shook her head. "-I don't get it."

"They have a spicy sensation when you eat them... Its not REAL fire, but the flavoring... Um, INVIGORATES, there's the word, it invigorates your taste to give a tingling, hot/crackly sensation. I dunno how else to say it."

He held one of the still wrapped candies out in front of him from the chair.

"Some people like it, others find it uncomfortable. Here, see what you think!"

Foxy frowned, took hold of the little translucent sleeve of plastic, and held it up to her non-patch-covered eye. She blinked and turned the mysterious red orb about, shrugged, and used a single nail to scratch the plastic off.

Phil raised a lower lip, impressed, as she popped it into her maw, clacked it around, and sat there dumbly.

She rolled her jaw a few times.

"No taste buds?" Phillip asked tiredly.

"Nyup." Foxy admitted.

"No point then, right?"

"Nyope."

"Stop that,"

"Why?"

"It's weird."

"So are you."

"Mmmkay, and?"

"I like that."

Phillip's preparation for an act of laughs, an attempt to get smiles going stopped, and he became intrigued with the sudden flush of deeper crimson invading the animatronic's bolted jaw-hinges.

First off, he wasn't aware that the material there could even react that way, that it could... DO that.

Second, she seemed pretty fidgety to it. A disturbed, yet knowing grin on his part, for there was no dramatic, soap-opera-induced bullcrap hiding she probably had a bit of a first meeting crush on him. Which, once again, its his second night in pizza-crusted hell, not only has he made friends with a living, scary-looking robot, but now, said robot had a CRUSH on him.

Oh yeah, just creepy man. Just creepy.

So in the end, with no better thought of reactions, he just shrugged, grinned.

"Oh, alright, thanks!"

Foxy grew redder, and nursed the hook still hidden to her back.

"A-Are you coming back tomorrow?" She asked suddenly.

The security guard closed his eyes briefly, and decided with Matt's help, his and Foxy's thinking, he would live, the freakshow would be in check.

He shook his head to clear it, and nodded.

"Yeah, I'll uh... I'll be here."

**BEEP BEEP BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP BEEP BEEP**

**BEEP**

His vision widened, and with a yank to his side, he pulled the blinking tablet to his face to view the flashing indicator above the time, now proudly beaming 6 am.

Taking a glance about, morning light slowly came in outside the office, and Foxy appeared dull, quite saddened, a bit more than he expected. She trudged towards the door, and slid her claw beneath it gingerly.

It swung into the ceiling slot above, and she waved at him.

"I-I'll see you tomorrow then... Um..."

His hand slapped to his forehead.

All of this time, they had been talking and talking and TALKING, she'd fended off quackers, and she still didn't know his damned NAME.

"Phillip! Phillip Linn."

Foxy brightened a tad.

"I'll see you tomorrow night then, Phillip," Taking a further step outside, she stopped briefly, and looked back inside as he stood from the chair to pack his things.

"P-Phillip?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Can you... Make me laugh again, when you come back?"

That was quite a blunt way of putting it, and the evident knowledge of her lack of socializing was made clear with such a query, Phil felt a tang of guilt, and he bobbed his chin with an affirmative.

"Yes... I think I can do that."

Foxy smiled, waved again, and was gone in a whoosh of copper red from her dulled fur, padded falls down the hall, and checking his tablet, Phil saw the curtain to the Cove slip shut again

The drive back home was one of unusual silence, though, he was glad no curdling scream was there to pierce his hearing and throat.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sleep actually came... Much easier than Phillip thought it would, or SHOULD, have. The darkness still had an impending feel of fluffy death rearing its ugly, children-eating face in his direction, but it also had the sense not all of it was trying to hurt him...

Foxy surely had confused him with an absent mind of dreams that night, so when the alarm clock rang its song to his ears the next afternoon, his eyes smacked open, and his fist performed its routine of cracking the little clock on its roof to silence it.

A quick check of his house again, he growled, shoved another cereal bar in his throat, and cleaned up the dishes from the dinner he'd had upon walking in the door last night.

As he scrubbed a plate, Phillip raised a brow idly to the window in front of the sink.

What was he to do tonight?

Foxy was surely anticipating his arrival, and even though she... Wasn't... HUMAN, in fact, she was a walking, talking, living animatronic creature that'd he'd met a NIGHT ago, he felt some sort of responsibility to not let her slip into the same void the freaky trio had.

Speaking of which, he couldn't rely on her to protect that office from them forever, he figured if they had been in the building THAT long, they probably tested their target's borders before pulling more daring and skilled attacks.

They might rush him all at once, and Foxy's hook wouldn't save them from THREE of the murderous wack-jobs.

Rubbing his chin with the sponge he held, a lightbulb went off in his head.

"Oooooo... I know EXACTLY, what to do."

Finishing his task, he sprinted up the stairs again, changed from his pajamas, adorned his security hat, and yanked a key from a hidden spot beneath his bedpost.

Eyeing the metal object like a godsend, he cleared the zone to his closet, threw it open, and slapped the key into a locked box in the back.

It clicked, and he yanked it open.

"Haha..." He muttered, pushing aside a few wrappings of paper, and retracting with a spray-can of pungent sounding liquid.

Giving it a brief shake, he smiled to the red paint covering it, labeled with bold yellow letters above a growling cartoon bear being struck down with an extended, can-holding human hand.

"I'm gonna go MACE Windu on these jerks..."

-0-0-0-0-0-

The drive ended with a pull of the ignition to PARK, and Phillip gave a determined, challenging frown to the pizza place as he stepped out of his Ford.

Enwrapped in a usual blanket of inky darkness, and only broken at its front with a single foyer light still on, Freddy's looked as menacing as it always did, and the new security guard adjusted his hat, a bit too dramatically, and nodded to no one in particular.

"Let's do this, boys."

"Mr. Linn? Who are you talking too?"

"AIIIIIIEEEIEIIEEEEEEEE!"

Phillip's bravery was absconded with by the forces of fate in no less than a second of time, and the shrill, feminine shriek that flew from his mouth only allowed his manager to take a step back, and pinch his brow in frustration.

Yet, when his several foot-high bound into the air ended, and Phil's sneakers clacked back onto the pavement below, the young man still felt a gradual padding on his chest, and took a heave of breath to stop it.

Staring daggers at Matt, his boss unclenched his pinched skin, and smiled apologetically.

"Oops." He stated musingly.

"I get that, since, you know," Phillip took another breath to further calm himself. "Woo... Anyway, I get now that I'm super-guard, I take the whole raise on my paycheck to support TEN dudes, but I swear if you scare me like that AGAIN, your adding a weekly iced coffee to that check."

Matt chuckled, and held a hand, which Phillip shook briefly.

"Noted, Mr. Linn. Is there anything I can tell or do to aid your station, tonight?"

Phillip twitched a little, and decided with all the honesty he had told Matt, to keep the improvised defense he had planned, secret. As such, he shoved the can of mace jutting from his back jeans-pocket deeper under his hoody.

"N-Nope, just keep that coffee ready, just in case."

His boss laughed again, and nodded.

"Good luck, Mr. Linn. If things get... Interesting," The old man shoved a tiny post-it into his employee's hand, raised his lower lip, and gestured to the darkened street behind them.

"-Call me for assistance. I'll get here, no matter what."

With that, Matthew trotted over to an old 50's era van parked a little ways from Phillip's Ford, stepped in, and noisily started the engine with an added few bangs and chops of internal machinery. The van gave a tiny honk, and was gone down the road a minute later.

Eyeing the note, he memorized the number, sighed, and stepped inside the deathly quiet, and dark, Freddy's Death-House.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Office doors, check. Buttons, check. Pringles chip-canister, check. Coca-Cola-" A rushing sound of plastic, sloshing of liquid, and a growl on his end. "-Scratch that, PEPSI, ugh, check."

Sifting about the room more, Phillip examined the desk with sweeping hands, noting the breach on the dust-covered surface where the rusty fan used to sit.

"Filthy, antiquity-era desk, check. Light bulb," Standing straight upwards, he flicked the little wire-hung fixture with his finger, noted how it flickered, and returned to his normal stance. "-Debatably checked. Now,"

Phillip grew a devious grin, and placed the can of mace on the desk with a clunk of motion.

"Ultimate anti-freakshow and monstrosity blinding agent with a side of ass-kick, CHECK."

A proud demeanor allowed itself to take over as he observed his little office, arms folded at his chest. Phillip hummed a tune from yet another Xbox game, and sat in the swivel chair noisily, before taking out and activating the tablet at his side.

He connected to the cameras, chuckled with appreciation with his battery life being just a green bar with no limited number on it, and idly flipped through the views. Despite how after a mere few days, he was already a tad more... USED, if that was even plausible on the borderlines of insanity, to the shifting positions of the bird and hare, they still made him shiver when they popped up.

Bonnie seemed over-active throughout the next few minutes, he changed rooms every time Phil took his camera view elsewhere, and without thought really, he scratched an itch on his shoulder, keeping his eyes glued to the tablet, his thumb jabbed out and shut the left door.

As if on cue, the metal gave out a light **_THUD _**as Bonnie practically batted the door in futile frustration. He hadn't even been assaulted by the damned killer rabbit, and old purples was having a hissy-

Phillip's musings were cut short when he saw movement to the right.

"Frigging ostrich doesn't know manners very well, does she- OHMYCHRIST!"

Phillip jumped backwards in his chair with the purple sigil of untimely demise hanging his ugly, ragged ears out of the doorway, a big, triumphant smile plastered on his fat face. The young man shook violently, and chanced a look at the mace can on the desk.

Phil could almost hear his favorite Star Wars characters telling him to 'USE THE FORCE!' to get to the only thing that would save him. How could he go MACE Windu on this clown WITHOUT the MACE?

He bit his lip, and drew blood suddenly when Bonnie's paw clenched on the rim of the doorway, his fake, animatronic eyes snapped to look dead at the human.

Lightly, he put the tablet down on the chair, and made to stand.

This wasn't going to be easy... Not at all.

Especially when the freak could move that fast-

"ohmygodohmygodohmygodOHMYFRIGGINGHOLYGOD." Phillip muttered incomprehensibly as his eyes left the insane monster before him for a split second, only to return to a fully purple-fur filled vision, Bonnie's mere PRESENCE tickled the hair on his skin.

The security guard squeaked, and zipped away as Bonnie swept a paw at him in a toying motion.

The rabbit gurgled, and emitted a noise akin to lowly, rumbled jubilations of laughter. In such a mocking sound of unimaginably self-descriptive sadism, Phillip would have just been dead right there had he been an average security guard...

But, for the lord's sake, HELL NO, he wasn't gonna be bunny-chow because a situation that HE braved on HIS choice, became a tad more dangerous than it already was. A bump in the long road of many more to come, he expected, his goal was set.

Get the fragging mace, man.

His eyes darted from the can to Bonnie, who, much to the poor human's chagrin, began to clench an angry paw by his left side. Unknown, until now of course, to Phillip, Bonnie had more than just brute strength on his side...

His purple-furred fingers almost rang like chimes when a raggedy, sharp nail unsheathed from each tip, and the rabbit reared back, and swung in one swift motion.

Phillip screamed like a cheerleader whose panties fell in a bad breeze, but miraculously bent backwards enough too, indeed, frankly topple over his swivel chair like a stupid goon, and also avoid the air-whizzing claws that sliced the space he vacated.

The chair made a final clack, and Phillip rolled over the toppled seat in another clumsy, flailing motion, Bonnie of course, was right behind with a frustrated gurgle.

Phil cursed when a heavy weight pressed on his shoulder, and claws tore the hood from his sweatshirt in a stretching noise of ruined fabric, though, he paid no mind, and used it to continue moving as the murderer rabbit tossed the decoy away.

He stumbled to a stand, and just saw the can in his vision, on his knees, Phil managed to feel the aluminum in a wrapped palm, he HELD it, before more of a tightened grip on the base of his neck, the can zoomed away as his vision swirled.

Bonnie gave off a cackling drum of wet vocals, and Phillip met the wall in the back of the office with a loud, deafening, and quite painful **_WHUMP_** as dust and a poster fell alongside his toppled body.

He just sat there on the concrete and groaned.

"Who the hell knew he lifted WEIGHTS?" He muffled into the floor.

A dirty footfall in front of his face, and Phil became aware of three things, all at once.

One, Bonnie's dirty, blade-like nails were coming down to the base of his head, so, impending spinal separation was ahead, so, you know, REALLY BAD.

Second, there was another presence that had just rushed into the office beside his soon-to-be killer, so, he guessed Chica would share his remains with her deviant little demon-friend here...

Third, he still held something metal...

And as his hands clasped the object tighter for a split-second, he was relieved to find he hadn't dropped his mace after all.

Bonnie managed another grunt of laughter, and from that day on, Phil swore on his saved life that he felt those nails TAP against his flesh before he stopped their descent.

As such, the mace can whipped up in a spring of his arm, a finger pumping down on the nozzle with a click, and a virulent cone of orange-reddish mist careened from the spout and sizzled onto Bonnie's overly satanic, ugly-smacked, and ridiculously nightmare inducing growth on his head he claimed his FACE.

The rabbit gave off a raspy, sharp gurgling, and his paws smacked upwards to rub at the invasive chemical on his eyes and brow, swiping madly, more hacks and grunts from his throat.

Yet a second later, the OTHER animatronic in the room acted.

A slash of rusty metal, and Bonnie's chest drew another ragged-looking wound across its matted fur, a balled fist clocked his head hard enough for a dislodged spring to fly out of his jerked neck with a **_SPROIIING! _**of a reverberating slinky-like noise.

Phillip stood to his full height, shook his head, and took in the quite angry Foxy hauling Bonnie's leant-over form to her right shoulder, and hauling him in a single-armed toss out into the hall. The rabbit thudded into the wall there, knocked a nearby poster down in a fluttering motion, and slumped tiredly to the floor, heaving slowly.

"Asshole..." Foxy growled, receiving a final, not-so prim OR proper for that matter, raised digit of Bonnie's extended hand from his sitting daze. The poster finished its floating, peaceful descent, and rested quietly between his ears, but Foxy didn't watch long enough to see anyway.

The door slammed, and she went to smack her palms in a up-down motion for a job well done, remembered the hook, blushed, and stowed it at her side as usual.

"Hot-damn, lady..." Phillip staggered to stand to his full height. "-Like I said, don't let ME piss you off-"

"Phillip!" She hurried over, and leaned closer to examine his head, which, despite a bruise on the back, it and the rest of him seemed okay. Of course, she refrained from physical contact, and for the moment, he preferred such. "-A-Are you alright...?"

"Yep... I'm good." He muttered, giving a thumbs up while rubbing his head with his right hand.

"How did you DISTRACT him like that? Bonnie's a schmuck, but he's fast..."

Phillip giggled and held aloft the can of mace, which, she read, reread, and shrugged.

"What is it? Acid or something?"

"Humans use this to ward off BEARS, Fox'."

She blinked, raised a brow, thought and thought again, smiled, and nodded her head in an impressed fashion.

"I like it. Good move..."

"I needed a good move for the likes of them..." He said, leaning down to retrieve his fallen swivel chair, which, surprisingly had remained unbroken through now TWO topples of his panicked survival efforts, stood it upright, and went to get the fallen tablet too.

Phil's hand touched the top, and he noted how fur also got on his palm, which, when looking up, he saw Foxy's surprised, albeit flushed expression to his contact of her attempted movements to help him.

Quickly, she slipped her paw from under his hand, and coughed into it awkwardly, he blinked, and snatched up the tablet.

"So, uh... Hi!" He greeted belatedly. "I'm back!"

Foxy smiled and laughed quietly beneath her paw.

"That's good..." She said, shifting on her feet, and casting a quick glance out the right-hand window of the office quickly. "So... How... Are, you?" She tried with an innocent smile.

"I'm just peachy! Got a first-degree concussion, soiled underwear and twenty broken bones! I can run a marathon with NOOO problem."

Of course, she laughed, and the office became another only source of said material within miles of even outside the building, and Phillip just grinned, and spiraled the chair to face his new animatronic friend.

"I said I'd make you laugh, right?" He chuckled.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi peeps! **_

_**I apologize for the inconsistent updates, and I'll avoid the whole discussion of other stuff going on and reply to a few questions I got on the last few chapters. **_

_**Okay so, I had a reviewer ask me on the Writs of Surveillance, on what they were and what they meant. So firstly, thank you for the question! Secondly, I'm going to come out and say they are just random little sayings I type up to fit with the security-camera styled gameplay of FNAF when actually on one's computer. I thought it'd be funny to add a quick book-like quote for the chapters of a poor guard trapped in pizza/demon land, so, lolzers. :D**_

_**And secondly, someone caught me saying lupine for Foxy, its really VULPINE, and I didn't see it until it was brought up, thought it was a mistake, and checked my Word doc. only to see my grammatical error cackling on my screen. So sorry for that one dudes and dudettes. **_

_**Of course, I still thank all of my readers and reviewers exponentially for their Reviews and visits to my stuff!**_

_**Alright then, TALLY-HO! Its update time... Cue the chorus!**_

_**-Don**_

_**=0=0=0=**_

Chapter 4.

Masters of the Cheesy Alliance.

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"Go down the west hall to repair Camera 7's lens, there's a chip in it. Also, take this, yes, it's a bazooka, you never know what lurks in the blind spots, boy."_**

**_-Writ 4 of Surveillance. _**

There was a light click with every fall of his finger, a properly trimmed nail impacting the surface lightly, relying on heat from his skin to activate the button.

Repeatedly drumming the rune, he drained the remnants of his soda with a hurried gulp, then returned all of his attention to the medieval-styled glyph he had been beating to a pulp with his pointy. His hands began to sweat from how long they were being used.

Someone tried to say something, but of course, he didn't hear them, and continued his physical badgering of the cellular device.

Quite did the little Iphone jerk around in his hold like a convulsing insect, pixel-like sounds of swinging blades and poorly developed monsters repeating in their oldy loops of the same file. The trolls sounded the same whenever they were hit, or they hit an enemy, so maybe when they attacked stuff it hurt too-

A blare of static.

"_YOU HAVE DIED. THE KINGDOM HAS FALLEN._"

Or this game really just sucked like the reviews said.

"Holy balls, are you frigging me?!" Phillip grunted. "It was a level 6 TROLL, I'm like, a level 70 GLADIATOR you shitmonkey!"

Reclining in the chair with a squeak of movement, he bit his knuckle and shook his head, the phone bleeped a last mockery as it powered down, which, only bugged him more to the said fact of the scene here.

Locked in hell, and the worst he could get angry over was Pixel-Dragons... DELUX.

"Frag that." He muttered, stowing the phone in his pocket.

An annoyed huff gave off all he needed for the symbol of Foxy's agitation to hit home. Phillip scared himself with a dismissive look to where she leaned on the doorframe by the side of the office, glancing between him and the window at intervals.

Of course, her ears perked when he turned towards her.

"So what do you think?" She asked as if some query had already been made, which, one WAS probably made, and it was lost n the vortex of his mind that Pixel-Dragon tended to make...

"About?" He sounded more ludicrously stupid than ANYONE could give him credit.

"Do you honestly need a hearing aid?" Foxy grumbled, crossing her arms and staring ahead with a jagged expression.

"Sorry... I didn't hear you."

"Not many people do."

For what little of a string that pulled, it was enough to make him fidget for a bit, and sigh, the chair protested noisily as he stood from it, and took careful steps towards his companion.

Phillip shifted awkwardly, standing before the annoyed animatronic, she raised a brow at him nonetheless, still hiding her hook under her opposite forearm.

"Well I didn't mean to do so," He tried. "Like I said, I'm sorry. Could you please repeat what you asked? I'll answer."

His honesty was enough to break many stalwart, negative attitudes, long from his years as a child, his mother had preached that to him. Though, how right she was BACK THEN, he wasn't completely sure, but certainly, Phil had a way of connecting with folks.

He liked making bad things good, fixing and solving dilemmas, bringing some form of positivity to a rainy day... As many could guess, a youngling with that kind of attitude has a big chance to build on that with age, and luckily, Phil did exactly that.

Foxy shifted on her feet and exhaled slowly.

"I asked what you thought of... THAT." Her hand gestured to one of the many propaganda posters that the old geezer who owned the joint had hung about the office, they were all 1940's-ish, in age. Many were advertisements to join the army or marines, or stockpile resources and ration fuel...

His brow raised with interest, it was a blunt question, quite generalized, so he decided to investigate further.

"Of the posters?"

Foxy grumbled.

"Of World War 2, you jerkweed..."

Phillip laughed at the old-timey jab, collected himself, and responded.

"War is evil, it causes bad things, and in the long run, fixes nothing. Its my personal view and I stick to it."

The animatronic processed for a minute, as she always did now whenever he said something indepth or long. Her ears flicked a few times.

"How do you know of... World War 2 anyway?" Phillip found the question awkward and insulting to her intelligence, but there was no other way to word it, when it seemed she had never left this crappy pizza dump.

After all, when was the last time ANYONE ever saw a walking robotic creature sitting in a library studying texts on history?

Foxy grinned barely, her chops obscuring any true revelation of that grin's extent, she gave her answer in a dreamy matter.

"All of the posters hung around here... Interested me. So I used Matt's internet device... Under his desk, you know? I researched World War 2 for hours on end that night...And I lost track of time..." For the short time that he had conversed with her, he had never quite seen Foxy take on such a nostalgic sense of fondness.

After all, two nights prior, he thought this job would be a simple one of quiet boredom behind a desk that once belonged to a Roman tutor who never dusted, watching camera screens that would reveal nothing but lifeless children's characters...

All of that crashed down the toilet very quickly, in a unskilled pattern of causes.

He almost got mauled by quackers and her carrot-loving freakass friend, found out they had been trying to maul people for maybe like... THIRTY years, AND, befriended the unsocial member of the four creatures who had hidden behind a curtain longer.

Guess it was debatable who was the biggest freak here now anyway.

Thus, it made judging, most of all of HIMSELF, irrelevant, and it made the just plain-ole stupid situation easy to ignore.

So what if he came back? Who ELSE got to talk to a smart-aleck, buttocks-kicking fox robot who had a HOOK for a right hand/paw?

Snorting quietly in laughter, he reacquainted to her state, and tilted his head.

"How'd you use the old man's laptop?"

"Lap... Top?"

"Uh... The... INTERNET DEVICE, Fox'."

She stared blankly, hiding her hook before flipping her eye-patch off with her one good hand, shrugging.

"I dunno... I pressed a few keys and it worked. I listened to people talk so much, I just went on that... Um, that, wikir thing..."

"HA! YO!" Phillip balled laughter, and hid his mouth with his balled hands, the chair creaked from his heaving form.

"T-THAT WIKIR-THING?! OH MAN, THAT'S AWESOME!"

Foxy grew shades by her jaw hinges, she growled and a terrible screech of drawn metal caressed by a thin, ragged point besieged the office.

Phil's comedy was snapped away as he covered his ears from the shrill screech of steel.

Foxy just kind of watched the opposite wall of the room with a smug grin, felt her arm jerk as her hook was dislodged, and calmly removed it from the end of the hideous gash of scraped away wall she had created with its point.

She snickered, and Phillip slowly removed his hands from his head.

He looked around, and dug into his right ear with a pinky.

"Ow... That hurt."

"Eyup." She chimed in, flashing him the side of her white rows of teeth.

"So it- Ouch..." Phillip rubbed his temple again, and resumed speaking. "-So, it isn't a WIKIR-THING, Ms. sensitivity-"

"Don't fret, there's PLENTY more wall here-"

"NOT NECESSARY!" He snapped, emitting a knowing chuckle and roll of her eyes. "Its called Wikipedia, so you looked up World War 2 on there?"

"Mmhmmm..."

"What did you find?"

Foxy let her eyes trail to him, and she gestured for one of the American Army recruitment posters slapped beside the Freddy's Pizza! poster that dominated the office's front wall.

"See the tank?" She asked, and indeed, nodding to the green, angular vehicle with its turret highlighter yellow as it blasted away the unseen enemies of freedom.

He smiled with knowing, having an idea of her next statement, which he hoped, he could counter.

"Its an M4A2 Sherman, produced around 1942-"

"Nah, try an M4A3E3 Sherman, late build, produced around 1944, Fox'."

Her jaw remained slack the second he dished out the correct mark of the vehicle, and she just glared with sudden contempt, her eye-patch fell down again.

Phillip shrugged.

"What? Just because I'm a fiction-loving dude doesn't mean history isn't my game."

"B-But- I-" She huffed, and jabbed her hook of all things, at the next poster.

"Alright smarty, that's a P-51D Mustang, manufactured by North American in 1944, shooting down a 109g-"

"Hold the phone, Foxy, nope, and nope. Its a P-51H, 1945, and, girl, that ain't a Gustav 109, that's a K!"

"That poster at the left has a Army Soldier holding a M1 Rifle-!"

"Mmmmmm, negatory, that's a BAR."

"DAMN IT!"

He could sense Foxy wasn't... Angry, the way she barked that one, it had a sense of met challenge in the half-impressed tone of defeat.

She held her brows in an angle, a devilish smile plastered beneath her balled paw.

"How do you know all of this?" She meagerly asked.

"Technology is epic, so when I research made up stuff, I find out alot about REAL stuff. World War 2 is just an extra-known little thing for me, I guess." He explained it as he had many other folks who had similarly quizzed.

Sure, ask him anything about the latest space and fantasy stories in the market, he could tell you... But Phil could ramble about history for hours, so much in fact, his mere SPEECH should have been a licensed weapon.

There weren't many who could BORE others to death.

Foxy ran her paw down her snout, and watched him like some amazing religious idle that brought about new enlightened thinking...

It was the best description he could muster, besides, what was one to say to an expression like THAT?

"So maybe I can research that subject more-" Foxy beamed. "-If you could... Um, help me with it." Phil wouldn't have heard her if his undivided attention wasn't on the scene, she muttered that last bit with a flushed lowering of her head.

Once again, he did his best to ignore it, lest she take another gash to the steel she leant on.

Besides, he'd have to explain the first one to Matt anyway.

"S-Sure thing!"

Almost instantly afterwards, there was a glass-sounding impact of something.

**_CLUNK_**

Foxy looked angry, glaring hateful daggers to the window at the left side of the office, and Phillip swung around in the chair with a startled squeak.

Drawing a line through the foggy residue that seemed to coat all of the glass in the hellhole, a purple paw flung back into the darkness outside, and the evil rabbit's face flashed into vision.

Bonnie looked angry, as cheap as the description came off as. He appeared more perturbed than when he was first harassing poor Phil's doorways, and even when he ALMOST succeeded in killing the guard. Either way to put the expression, Phillip gulped and frowned contemptuously.

"This dick won't buzz off!"

Foxy stepped closer to the window and brandished her hook at the sociopath.

"Back away... NOW."

She sounded wicked scary when she was mad.

Phil just imagined a glob of utter crap smacking into the spinning blades of that previous rusty fan of the office...

For some reason, he missed that stupid thing.

Bonnie made a gurgling snarl, his fist pumped into the wall outside loudly, clearly making his predatory senses further deprived like they never had been before. Normally, when a kill was available, there was nothing to stop him from enacting a display of sadism...

Now the killer Easter Bunny hadn't released his pent up evil for a long time.

Because of the damned, traitorous outcast behind this glass.

"**_Foooooxxxxxxyyyyy..._**"

If someone could get a rattling microphone, talk into it with a throat full of gurgled water, and then add some kind of voice filter with effects from General Grievous from Star Wars, they would have this freak's true vocals.

Phillip flattened in his seat in a quake from the horrible word that ushered from Bonnie's jaws.

Foxy, of course, despite having her name slashed out from the monster, had no indication of fear or intimidation.

She stared him down until Bonnie vanished into the darkness of the halls beyond once more.

Phillip was silent the whole time, and watched cautiously as she rolled her shoulders, and nursed her hook back into its place, hidden by her forearms.

"One day, I am going to rip his gear-slot out through his mouth, and shove it up the other hole..." She growled, backing away with eyes glued ahead.

Phil took a minute to un-plaster himself from the cushion of the chair.

"He needs a shrink..."

"Even if we did that to him, he'd still put up a-"

"-Fox'?"

"...What?"

"A shrink is a mental health doctor."

"... Your lucky you learn lessons fast... Walls are REALLY fun to carve up, ya know."

"Yep, and so is Turkey on Thanksgiving!"

"Thanks... Giving? Why are you giving-"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Maybe when the blotchy shadows of the night receded, Phillip would have felt the weight of oppressive fear lift off of his shoulders, his wave to his friend, the car ride, they all should have accelerated this growing relief.

But strangely, there was no usual peace of mind going home.

Phillip Linn began to grow a pit of dread in his gut when the Ford gave a final low growl, and went silent, darkened in his driveway.

The night was still in its end throes, and the sun was just barely emerging from the horizon, so it was actually still pretty... Hard to see, outside.

The car door slammed, and he stepped onto the pavement a little wobbly-like.

"Dang..." He muttered in surprise, feeling his way past his car, he found the walkway to his front door, followed it quietly, and bumped a bit into the wooden entry as a final detail. He snarled, rubbed his nose with a set of fingers, and had just entered the key into the slot when...

He heard something.

There was a series of clinks and clunks onto the ground by his shoes, his keys flittered into the darkness and vanished there.

"N-No way... No fragging-"

That was a gurgle, the same kind of noise the killer duo made at the Pizza place.

The can of mace was in his hand faster than even HE could process, he jabbed the business end of it about his front yard, saw nothing, but continued to hear the snarling of some angry freakshow.

How had one of the animatronics followed him OUTSIDE of the hell-pit?!

Was that even possible?

Apparently it was, because here was the 'Heroic' security guard who agreed to throw himself to the wolves in an act of bravery, now pissing his pants in fear in front of his own house. Forget being a good Samaritan, what the hell was so pleasing of being murdered on your lawn so a moron wouldn't be butchered by a furred demon?

Phillip muttered a line of pray for his mother when a bush by the side of his yard flicked a tad, and a conglomerate of pipe-like bundles, dragging a balled shape, flittered across the grass, and vanished somewhere near his car.

"A-Aw crap..."

He managed another step backwards, and he felt his shoe catch atop something small and metal...

His keys!

Good God his old lady must have heard him!

He swept downwards to retrieve the keys, hearing another shuffling of metallic parts by the Ford, he slammed the things home in his door, amazed he could find the hole in such darkness, and swung it open.

Phillip practically heard angels singing as he began to sprint inside his home.

Yet, someone thought that singing was a tad overrated apparently.

The door began its closing arc under his swinging arms, there was a clang of impacting metal, and he snatched his eyes to his ankle, now firmly ensnared by a pipe-like appendage, tipped with a skinned robotic hand.

"What am I being mauled by?! AN OCTOPUS?!"

His speech was cut short when the limb dragged roughly on his foyer carpet, and the pavement outside, Phillip lost his footing and screeched girlishly, clapping to the floor and seeing his legs vanish back outside.

This was not good, his arms flailed, he clawed for the door, the wall, anything to stop this freak from MURDERING him.

His hand caught on the door, he tugged higher, allowing his other fingers to snatch hold of the lightswitchs by his front entrance. The tentacle tugged harder, and poor Phil's fingers raked the switches and wall, the door snapped in motion.

However, his digits had drawn across these switches to apparently accidental effect.

Light erupted inside his foyer, bursting the shadows of the malevolent night away in a single flash, the pipe around his angle relinquished in a tiny meep of sound, and finally, for a crescendo, the light outside the door snapped to brightness as well.

Phillip clambered away from the screeching mess of robotic limbs that reeled back to the car still parked in the driveway, he snatched up the can of mace, and jabbed it in the monster's direction.

He had it.

"HA! Haha! Take that you walking water-cooler-!"

"TURN IT OFF!"

Phillip stopped dead from his position on his porch, staring at the shivering mess of entanglement hiding under his car.

"ME NO LIKE LIGHT! GO AWAY-! Hey look! Me find a nickel..."

There was a tiny chime, and Phillip leapt to a stand when said coin flicked from under his Ford onto the grass before him.

"Come back nickel!"

Whatever this animatronic was, it sounded like a raspy, female-ish vocal coming from a torn throat, if that was even a proper description.

It appeared a moment later, a flailing mess of robotic debris, wrapping its limbs around the coin, and a white-colored head observing the piece of currency like a godsend... It was reintroduced to the light through, this, and it screamed like an alien in some horror movie, and vanished under his car again.

Phillip watched this with a spinning head.

"M-Mister... Mister! Me want nickel!"

"What the hell..." He growled. "-W-what ARE you?!"

"Me is me..."

"Ugh..."

It was obvious he'd found another friendly of the freaks, at least, it seemed that way, it may, after all leap back to kill him if he turned the light out.

"Well... I... Alright, what do you want?!" He stammered.

"Me heard that you new guard..."

The creature sounded apologetic.

"-Me curious."

"A-About what?"

"I dunno... Mister?"

"W-What?"

"Can you at least DIM bad light?"

Phillip raised a brow, and figured, hell, he had the mace in his hand, and there were powertools in his garage, which was a foot away, he would dismantle the little shitter if it tried something.

He reached inside his house, and lowered the switch on the outside light a smidge, and the night was allowed domain over his porch a tad more.

"Alright... Come out, slowly." He felt comedic holding that can like a gun, and there was an appreciative chattering under the car he paid mind too.

The animatronic... The THING, popped out from under the car in a tortoise-like motion, and Phillip's eye twitched in response.

Coiling pipe-like limbs snaked slowly around a ragged top-half of an animatronic internal torso, gears turned silently by the smashed internals of the supporting ribcage, hands and feet, lacking the fur or synthetic skin of a suit, were disproportionately capped on some of the tendrils that made a great zenith on the underside of the thing.

A single head stood atop a last pipe protruding from the top of the ruined body, it was white-colored, had fur, astonishingly, and was decorated with discolored eye-shadow, cartoony pink dots to symbolize rosy cheeks.

In an ugly sense, it looked a bit like Foxy.

Lipstick was painted by its frontal snout, and he felt a bit disturbed by its lack of a right eye.

It smiled creepily, and waved one of its many varying hands.

"Heeeelllllllooooooooo!"

Phillip felt himself shake throughout the entirety of its childish greeting in its strange, raspy voice.

He quaked a last, and shook his head quickly to clear it.

So much for a good night's sleep.

"Who-who are you?"

"Me Mangle!"

"MANGLE WHAT?!" Phillip cried, jabbing the can a bit more threateningly.

The animatronic sniffed in the direction of the can, and cocked its head while pointing to itself with one of the many feet topping its pipes.

"Me," It pointed a big toe to itself. "Mangle... Silly!" It laughed.

"So your name is..."

"MANGLE!" It cheered like a baby-show character greeted someone on their birthday.

The scariness was just mounting and piling the more Phillip left his house.

"W-Well... Uh... M-MANGLE, what do you want?"

Mangle finished its examining of the nickel it snatched back up, stowed it somewhere on itself, and looked at him sheepishly.

"Me have no clue." It gave the equivalent of a shrug.

Phillip gawked, and rose his hands above his head in a calming inhale. He released slowly, lowering his forearms as such. This was all a bit much. He smiled cheaply, and went to step back inside his home.

"Have a nice trip back." He called out.

"But me no like basement!"

That statement at least got him to stop in his doorway.

"You live in the dump's BASMENT?"

"Mmmhmmm!" Mangle shook its head in affirmative dramatically. "-Light bad, but dark worse!"

"Look, I don't know how you found my house or even got out of the basement there-"

"Me take taxi!"

"How in the hell did you take a TAXI, you weirdy?!"

"Like this! Watch!"

The Mangle slithered back to his Ford, and Phillip suddenly found himself lowering the mace can, stepping out onto the lawn, and watching with a repulsed expression as Mangle opened its maw wide, and emitted a sharp **_CLANG! _**as it bit down.

Phillip let his jaw go limp.

"See! It fun, and FREE!" It said jubilantly with its mouth full, teeth putting sizable bumps and dents in his car's chewed rear bumper.

"You hitched a ride by-by, BITING my car's BUMPER?!" He screamed.

"Wweeeeeeee!" The animatronic muffled, letting its many limbs clatter about the driveway behind it to simulate its most likely previous flailing.

Phillip groaned loudly, and impacted his hand into his forehead to sit on his grass. This was going to be a long night, and now, he had ANOTHER freak to deal with at his own house, of all places. He noted that his mom might as well have just screwed him over.

He decided to never pray to her for help with animatronic disasters ever again.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

What the Ford Dragged In.

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"Repair manuals are for the unintelligent of this profession. A true security guard knows how to fix all security cameras in a building at a glance. No matter the make or model. Safety is at stake! Grab your wrench and work maintenance you goon!"_**

**_-Writ 7 of Surveillance. _**

"So... Uh... Do you want some... Coffee?"

"Me like tea."

"What kind of tea?"

"YOU HAVE DIFFERENT TYPES OF TEA?!"

"...Yes?"

"ME WANT ALL!"

Phillip's kitchen table bucked from the sheer amount of flailing mechanisms clattering about its top and sides, and the unruly animatronic let a pink-colored tongue dribble as it watched the human take out a few teabags from a cabinet.

Mangle had a 'o' shape to its mouth as he set the tiny boxes down, stared at the creature for a second, and gestured for them.

"W-Which one?"

"ME WANT ALL!"

"I can't give you all of the tea in one cup!"

"DO IT!"

"It'll make a mess, you prude!"

"DO IT!"

"But-!"

"DO IT!"

"NO!"

Phillip felt his throat rasp from how loud he barked as the crazed freak sprawled in his kitchen table's left chair, and Mangle had a hurt look on its face, like someone just killed its pet hamster, or something.

Its lower lip quivered, and it stared at him sullenly.

"Holy God... Finally some quiet-"

There was a sniffle, and Phil jammed his eyes in the direction of the curling animatronic.

"*_sniff_* *_sniff_* B-But I..."

"Oh lord, don't tell me your gonna cry too-"

"AAAAAHHHHhhh! WAAAAHAHHAHHHHHH!"

Phillip's hands clapped over his ears as the freak reared its tentacle-topping head back, and belted out wail after sobbing wail like a three year old child.

His eyes were bloodshot, bags sopped beneath them, and he began to gradually break into a sweat. With beads of wetness down his forehead, he stomped upstairs, the wailing never diminishing in its dulled state, and applied a pare of earmuffs to his head.

He snorted, stomped back downstairs, and quietly watched the now silent, gaping mouth of the Mangle as it screamed to the ceiling with a closed still good eye, and bowed its head to wipe at its nose for non-existent dribbling.

It resumed its noise as he snatched up all the tea boxes, and grabbed a mug, and began to pour hot water into it.

By the end of the boiling, he had memorized every nook and cranny of his kitchen wall behind the stove from keeping his vision glued to it for so long, he began to mix as many teabags as he manage in a big bundle, and let them sit in the cup.

While he waited, he raised a brow, and lifted his right muff, only to jerk at the sudden increase of noise, and reapplied it with a grumble.

A moment later, the tea was done, and he stomped over to the table, and calmly set the mug down before the still wailing Mangle, who, to his shock and awe, immediately went silent and stared at the cup.

He lifted his muffs just in time to hear a tiny "Thankyou!" before the Mangle buried its muzzle in the mug without another word, and quiet reigned in his home again.

He rubbed his temples, and glared at the clock over the stove reading 8:00 in the morning.

"Oh. My. Baby Jesus..." He muttered, suddenly feeling the weight of his eye-mounted bags. "What the hell am I gonna do with you...?"

"Mister?"

"WHAT?" He sounded like an emu the way he rasped out his snap, but Mangle wasn't bothered, and set its empty mug down on the table.

"Can me ride swing again? PLEASE?"

"Whatever..." He was already halfway up the stairs to his bedroom when he mumbled the response, not even awake enough to amaze at his guest having downed an entire mug of scorching tea in seconds.

A moment later, and Mangle cheered, tangled its limbs about the lamp hanging over his kitchen table, and swung back and forth with a tiny 'Wee!' each movement.

Maybe a week earlier, Phillip would've feinted at the idea of letting one of the animatronics stay in the same building he SLEPT in, especially his fragging house... But extreme fatigue from lack of sleep, sickness from the amount of high-pitched, cheery babbling he'd heard in less than a few hours, didn't allow him to argue.

Phillip toppled into his bed and was out like a light.

Yet the persistent sound of a creaking chandelier continued on through the morning, and only when Phil began to snore, did a conglomerate shadow peak in his door, snif the air, and vanish back into his kitchen without a indication.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The ages that had passed before now were uncountable, miserable, saddening AND maddening, but most of all... Lonely.

When was the last time she was ever able to laugh? Much less because of some human guy who just happened to add more chaos to her life by simply... BREATHING?

There was no straying from the fact of the matter, and that was that Foxy felt a kind of attraction to the fleshbag only a anti-socialized exile could form to a open-armed person. She knew her mind wasn't letting the security guard slip from its tendrils because she was moving too fast for even herself.

Rushing onwards, the animatronic felt such care for the first human to talk to and befriend her in a matter of days, that if he ever... Persisted, on matters of unspoken activities only bonded ones performed...

Let's put it lightly and say she wouldn't put up much resistance.

Animatronic or not, while most would find the notion of a 'Correct' design repulsive, the robots in this stupid, run-down pizza hell weren't normal, they weren't just ROBOTS. There was no factory or workshop to track their creation too, no designer, no engineer, no blueprints... They were always, just THERE.

Foxy had no recollection of her beginning life, much like a toddler formed memories after already knowing who their parents were and where their house was.

Not being a normal robot meant she was kind like a NORMAL creature, in a strange, unkempt sense.

She had a body too.

Unfortunately, it was her very BODY in a way, that stirred her head into a cloud of confusion.

She really didn't know how long she stared into the rusty, unpolished metal curve that jutted from that, god damned stump on her right wrist, but however long it lasted, all Foxy did was turn and examine the hook she always felt the most shame over.

Behind the curtains of the Cove, she wallowed in the same shadows that had obscured her for nearly twenty years, there weren't many nights where she left the stupid booth, her prison and fortress, and obviously it switched roles by the day cycle.

At night it was her defense zenith, the others... Even Freddie with his annoying desire to control any and all, would not confront her on HER turf.

Despite her miniature gang-like war with the others, they knew not to enter the forbidden chambers that surrounded the Cove. Foxy had dealt damage to all of them in those first engagements here than any of them could ever HOPE to replicate in turn to herself.

She'd torn off Chica's arms before, left a crater burrowing into Bonnie's gut, exposed the true robotic skull beneath Freddie's features...

An despite all of that, they never left her alone if she went beyond her corner of the kingdom.

Frankly, she was lucky that the security guard, her new friend, was stirring the others up enough that all she had do was enact a quick sprint to safety amid their caution. At least it was something to not use her... Asset.

The hook was a reminder of all the foolish things that happened in this pit.

Once, before her current grunge, Foxy was a well kept denizen of the restaurant, she resembled a perfect cartoon-like fox, no exposure of the inner mechanisms that made her robotic internals, she looked clean, FELT clean to the children around her...

In that time she actually enjoyed all of her viewers, even though they treated her like an object, it was the innocence of children, the gaze of content parents... It did much to soothe her before the end began.

The other animatronics had no appreciation of these rotten people... Especially the ones that ran THEIR home.

Freddie began to harass humans in subtle ways first.

It would be simple, he'd hit a child when they turned their backs, trip passerby, acts of a inconsiderate little deviant...

Bonnie was the last to join in on those efforts, and quickly, any sense of 'Good' in him evaporated when Freddie began to hurt people. His followers acted en suit.

Foxy was disturbed by the actions of her kin, any attempt at reasoning with them in the dead of night was met with violent outbursts, physical attempts to shoo her away. Eventually she just gave up on them.

Then the children, wary of the less 'Friendly' robots made the Cove a gathering place.

She reveled in the attention, the ability to entertain and be admired by small younglings without the thinking capacity to realize she was just a DUMB piece of HARDWARE.

1987 reached Foxy in a matter of seconds, so it seemed, time flew by, and the good sections of those passing ages vanished all on that day. For throughout the year, she began to get locked in fights with her kin.

She was beaten, and her normally cheerful, carefree nature dissipated with each hit or bite.

Her hide grew in worse condition by the day, and eventually, with so much pent in anger, she began to beat back.

Damage began to riddle the animatronics nightly, the manager, a much younger Matthew, couldn't explain the happenings with any sense until he took upon himself to install the cameras. That was when the terror really began to occur.

Security guards came and went, some just shaken, others injured by some 'Freak Accident' a few even died, but naturally, those were the stories to not be heard. That position faltered with its reputation, and Freddie couldn't keep his bloodthirst contained to just nighttime anymore...

A combination of that and lack of victims during dusk made Foxy spring into action the second that freak lumbered into the Cove with her and the many people who always idled there.

A man hollered, Freddie reclined with his prey, and Foxy leapt nearly three feet in the air and did the first thing she could think of.

She used her teeth to pry the flailing man away from him.

Matthew was forced to enact in the way she dreaded most, and the Cove was shut, the doors locked during business hours, out of order signs picketed in the tens around. However it was Foxy who chose to utilize that potential for isolation to its full capacity.

She was ashamed, confused, angry and hateful, 1987 was the year the incoming train wreck impacted her life and shattered it to an even lower status.

And now this stupid, fleshy, dorky history-fanatic security guard had to come and muck up her feelings more, but in the way that was potentially more complex than if he had been a foe.

Her hook lowered below her hip, and Foxy felt the curtains shiver amid the deafening **_CLANK! _**that rebounded throughout the Cove when the back of her head smacked backwards to a support beam. Foxy had no intention of leaving that spot for the rest of the day, maybe not even to see the man that caused the problem firstly...

"You..."

Her teeth emitted a shriek of ground steel, and her jaw rolled.

The voice was deep, raspy, gurgling in a ruined throat.

So he wanted to talk? After twenty years, he came into HER Cove without intention for a fight, but for a therapy session?

"What do you think YOU'RE doing?" She made no attempt to stay hidden, and await for a pounce, there was obviously, like previously stated, no fight about to happen, thus, there was no need to waste time.

Foxy swept the curtain away with a dismissive swing of her left forearm, and exposed herself in the afternoon light that trickled through the few windows in the joint to a badly beaten, dirty, rough appearing rabbit.

Bonnie smiled all of his dagger-like serrated teeth inanely, simplistically in gesture, as if their fist fight the other night had never happened.

"You really are a psycho, know that?"

"Pfft," He snickered. "Tell me something I DON'T know."

"I'll kill you next time, no jest, prick."

"Get in line." He chirped cheerily. "-Look, your antics with the meat-bag, its pissing Fredd off."

"You've gotten low enough to be his MESSENGER now, eh, ole' Bonn-Bonn?" She sniggered, crossing her arms. "Tell the Godfather he can say it too my hook,"

Foxy smiled eerily.

"-Then he can lose his mug of a face again."

"Tsk. Crude, but no, personally, I told Freddie he could stick it. I don't deliver threats, I make them. Anything from my mouth is from ME." As such, he clacked his jaws comically.

Foxy rolled her eyes, and flicked her eye-patch upwards to size her rival up.

He still bore the damage from the fights that had plagued their interaction, even ones years ago, after all, there were no mechanics here, so, she had the same predicament.

For what it was worth, Bonnie could tell exactly that as he read her examination like an open travel pamphlet.

"-Haha, Mmmhhmm. I still got em," He jabbed a clawed finger to her torso, its upper half snaked out of sight by the medical tape wrappings. "-We both do. Good scraps for good times, nah?"

"Sod off you piece of shit."

"Fine, fine," He held both of his sharpened paws up. "I'm saying the guard is prey, not a buddy, from me to you. Your prerogative."

Foxy felt her hide crawl when the door by the front of the Cove snapped shut, and she shakily exhaled, stomped over to the entrance he'd come from, and snatched her paw over a nearby rickety, wooden chair.

It clunked as she stuck its top beneath the handle to bracket further intrusion.

The curtain swept again, and the darkened ball inside the booth resumed its motionless daze.

-0-0-0-0-0-****

_chopchopchop_

The kitchen knife diced through a cooked deli ham steak like a lightsaber through butter, and Phil cast a glance to the can of mace sitting idle, unused, on the very counter next to his table.

At which sat a subject he had intended to use it on in the first place.

_chopchopchop_

"Me like your house!" Mangle stated cheerfully. "Me like you!"

Phillip felt his eye twitch, and he gave his best smile he could ever have hoped to form while looking at his guest. His lips retracted over sharp teeth, and, if life were a cartoon, he would look like the Joker from Dark Knight.

Mangle cocked its head at him, as per usual, completely oblivious to the carnage it caused naught with violence and death, but with the shrillness of its own voice. Just as fast as it had frowned, the tentacled weirdo refashioned its bashful grin.

"Your funny! I come back every day!"

_chopchop-CLACK_

The kitchen knife came down with enough force to sever the head of a wooden spoon near the ham steak he'd finished cutting halfway through the Mangle's words, and Phil brushed the broken implement into the sink without a sound.

He cricked his neck.

"That... Won't be needed, Mangle."

"But basement stinks! Me like new guard!"

"Yes, well, the new guard likes peace and quiet. So do me a favor, and be... QUIET!" Phillip jabbed the knife towards the ceiling as he barked in the general direction of the kitchen wall, and resumed making his breakfast at, what was now the afternoon.

Brunch, supposedly.

The Mangle's jaw quivered, and it curled up on top of the table tighter.

"-B-But I-"

The second the first sniffle sounded, Phillip launched himself from the counter's side, and backhanded a chair clear out of his way in front of the table, before slamming his knuckles into the wooden top, to jab his nose to the Mangle's nose.

The animatronic grew frozen, and stared into the human's eyes with sudden surprise, its mouth now an unreadable, downward curved line.

"Don't. Even. START, to think about CRYING!" Phillip snapped. "If I hear, a SINGLE, sniffle fly out of your maw, I will PERSONALLY, throw you in my washing machine, on SPIN CYCLE! WITH EXTRA FABRIC SOFTENER!" He found himself belting out the last bit.

The Mangle was emotionless for the longest time, good eye big like a platter, a puppy-dog frown over its chops, it sniffed at his face, and Phil pulled back a smidge from how close the creature made to physical contact.

In close detail, its fur wasn't anywhere near as ragged or mopped like Foxy's, which was strange, because according to it, the Mangle called the BASEMENT there its home.

Yet it strangely was clean, despite its broken appearance, it smelled of the Febreeze! spray that Matt had the janitors detonate via air-freshener nuke all over the restaurant, and Phillip felt his neck hurt when he couldn't pull back anymore.

Suddenly, he jumped a little when the Mangle flashed its entire jawline of pearly whites.

"Gazuntite!" It giggled. "-Crazy human! We best friends!"

"I don't even know what to say."

"Me don't know, not mind reader."

Phillip groaned and stomped back to the counter to resume making his food.

This whackjob was starting to prove even MORE of a train wreck than its first impression, there was just so many things OFF, beside the obvious conundrum of its mental state, the fact it had painted makeup, one eye, and a head on top of a tentacle bush...

While all that was a mouthful, he didn't even know if the Mangle had a... GENDER, so to speak.

"Mister?"

The knife had just reentered his grasp, and now slipped away from its aim to the food below, and pointed towards Phil's wrist for a split second, before reality came back.

"Mm?" He grunted.

"What's your REAL name?"

"Phil..."

"The DOCTOR?!"

Out of all the things this contraption had said, shrieked and cheered, THAT actually made him laugh, and he bent over the counter in a sudden heaving fit of deep comedy.

"A-Alright, you made me laugh, so I won't throw you in the-"

"Me can't see reflection!"

Phillip yipped when a heavy pressure loomed over his shoulders and head, pipe-limbs draped over his back and shoulders, and the Mangle used a spare right foot to scratch his hair in curiosity.

"Take off the wig!"

"I'm not wearing a wig..."

"But you said you were Doctor Phil!"

"If I WAS Dr. Phil, I'd be treating some doofus like myself who ranted about killer stuffed animals! I most certainly wouldn't be employed by some dumpy-ass pizza house either!"

The Mangle stopped tugging at his hair, looked ahead, and seemed to be in deep thought.

Phillip sighed heavily as he waited for the thing to comprehend a response, and rolled his eyes when the hand by his ear drummed its fingers idly on his temple.

"You not Doctor?"

"No."

"What about, THE Docto-?"

"No."

"What about nurse's aid-?"

"God, NO."

"What ab-?"

"NO! NO. No, no again. Never! Nada! Zip! Nyet! Negative! Negatory! How many ways should I say NO to you?! Huh?"

Phil jammed his eyes upwards to feebly stare with malice at the Mangle's lower chin, and the animatronic gave its weird equivalent of a shrug, and lowered its head to rest atop his with a sigh.

He grumbled, used his un-occupied hand to shove a foot hanging by his cheek a bit away, and once again, attempted to make some form of food for himself before he went an entire day and night without anything.

Silence reigned for no more than a minute though, and the Mangle poked his ear to get his attention.

"Phil? You forgot NIE."

The knife clattered into the sink, the unfinished ham and eggs were thrown on a plate, and Phillip ate them in two bites, all the while, the Mangle hummed a tune about ninety nine bottles of oil on the wall.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

Insomnia and Tea, the Keys to Happiness!

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"If you believe an intruder has evaded your observations from your office, you are most likely correct. A true security guard must view the pink-slip as death itself. Do whatever you must to avoid it, even if lethal force is required... We are at war! At war... With the threats to safety!"_**

**_-Writ 10 of Surveillance. _**

Light snaked away gradually from the growing, airborne ink that only resonated in the darkness around the shack of Freddy's Pizza, allowing for the deep dusk to invade and hold.

The black of night slithered like tendrils throughout the building, and the sounds of nature vanished from the external world like they did every hour of twelve. The sounds of the creaking, stiff joints of the others emitted from the halls occasionally, but she couldn't give less of a hoot.

Foxy stayed in her little curl inside the booth, reliving the past in an inglorious repeating of actions, deja-vu flooded her system in a disorienting fashion.

She rocked back and forth in her fetal stance, finding amusement in prodding a beetle that crawled about the wood floor below her. She grinned inanely while watching it scurry in a quickened, but overall slow travel, from the length of her hook all the way to the tip.

Foxy let her chin fall to a curved wrist's support, her elbow agitating her knee with its elongated presence.

She didn't care either way really, and grew to a steady expression of mourning when even the stupid INSECT flittered away from her in a hurry, its translucent wings snapping outwards, and carrying it through the tiny break in the curtains.

Foxy snorted and hummed idly.

She rolled her eyes when glancing to the rusty, old clock hung from the back of the Cove's wall.

It was only 11:45...

Fifteen minutes was nothing compared to her daily grinds of boredom and sorrowful isolation, yet, it seemed any amount of time bracketing her from her new friend was torturous.

"Maybe... I can... I can ask him to stay during the day too... When there are no parties..." She hated when her past habits reemerged, and just like that, maybe ten of the last twenty years were undone when she started talking to herself again.

Foxy bore teeth to that.

However, it was better to the latter of simply mulling through the night, and eventually not even making CONTACT with the human out of her own self judgment...

There was now another wound to the dusty wood below her as she brought her fist down in a loud crack of impacted splinters.

Screw this, she was going to that office no matter what any of the shitheads on the stage said.

Foxy grinned, stood up, and immediately grunted in pain from the stiffness of her hours of immobility. She clenched an eye shut, and ground her teeth, before snapping her limbs in quickened, then drawn out stretches.

Metallic pops, clinks and clattering were heard, and she gave a brief roll of her neck to finalize her newly found dexterity. A final nod to the rest of the Cove, she stood briskly to swipe the curtain away, and step into the empty room, wooden chairs and tables stacked in the side wall-corners like makeshift rubbish heaps.

She felt a pang of sadness, remembering those once FILLED pieces of furniture gridding the floor she trotted across, rid herself of it, and went to reach for the seat she'd jammed the front door to the Cove with.

It clunked as she tugged it free, and slid it back with the others to the right.

Foxy kept her hook raised as she flipped the door quietly open, and observed the empty halls of the Cove's connected foyers.

These were the guerilla grounds in which she'd done the most horrendous impacts to her kin.

And she smiled for every one of them.

Foxy daringly hummed a tune, knowing not even BONNIE would be insane enough to come and fight her here, she only stopped when she neared the main halls, stuck to the shadows when the security office came into view.

Technically, her kin wouldn't start to act up until 12:10-20'ish, but she was cautious anyway, since Bonnie found the muscle to visit her the previous afternoon. Foxy kicked her legs a little, and made to sprint for the door, when... Something caught her eye, the one not covered by the patch, at that.

Respectively, said patch flicked upwards with her raised brows, and she trotted over to the door leading into one of the many blank, dirty walls of the building's rear rooms.

The door's knob lay strewn in two pieces on the floor, it was open, in a great black arc, unmoving with the swirling darkness of the place, Foxy clenched her jaw, stepped over to the entry, and reached her paw inside for a light switch.

The heavy scent of the cleaner spray the janitors used wafted in her nostrils pungently.

She crinkled her nose, and flicked the switch when she found it.

A brief whine of unused, old light bulbs, the drone of fried ozone, the whitish illumination of the basement flooded away the shadows. Foxy needed the quickest of glances to see a portion of the stone floor at the bottom of the old, concrete staircase, darkened from wear, empty of any form of scrap.

A few pieces of endoskeletons lay strewn around the dampened section, and Foxy felt conflicted about the sight.

She leaned over her shoulder to hear the sounds of resting tires, and a brief flash of headlights snapped from the windows of the front of the store, barely discernible from the back. Just in a feint mumble, she could hear her human... Phillip, walking towards the front entrance. It sounded like there was something...

She glanced back inside the basement.

-SOMEONE, with him.

Foxy huffed shakily at the realization tonight was about to get more dicey, ON TOP of her already messed up emotions.

"Shit me..." She grumbled, punching the light switch off in a thwack of motion, the door handle skittered away from an impact to her dragging feet towards the office. "-Hope he didn't give her TEA..."

-0-0-0-0-0-

As the Ford came to an abrupt halt at the usual parking space it filled nightly, the lights receded, and the door opened, not for a quietly whistling security guard to walk towards his new dangerous job on lightly padding sneakers, but for a chorus of agony.

The second the insides of the car grew open, the horrific vocals of a poorly tuned, proportioned, and basically dying-animal-sounding'ish song blasted into the night.

Phillip stepped out of his car with a dead look, a straight line snipping across his jaw line, completely devoid of emotion, he sniffed with flared nostrils, and raised one hand to brush away a metal foot draped over his hair, and the left to secure his security cap afterwards.

A bundled mess sat atop his shoulders as the Mangle sang its tune without care nor notice of its host's misery.

"La la la la, LA LA! La la la la, la la la lalalala, LAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Another crescendo note, and Phillip didn't flinch in his lazy trot to the front door, slamming the car door behind him, locking it with his keychain.

The Mangle's tune did not cease when the front door opened, and Freddy's Pizza's deathly silent nighttime atmosphere, was abolished by the childlike beams of a happy display of obliviousness.

Phillip shut the door behind him, considered leaving the Mangle tied around Freddy's shoulders while he walked through the dining area, and stepped into the entry frame of his office without a word. He looked about, and noticed that Mangle had suddenly stopped broadcasting its message of a injured elk, and was whipping its head about to examine.

"This... The Office?"

"Yep..."

"It look clean, and tidy... Are you feeling good, Philly? Make wrong turn?"

"Yep..."

"... Why you sad?"

"Yep..."

Phillip ignored the curious look he got, and plopped down on the spiral chair, yanked out the tablet, and punched a knuckle into each of the door buttons, and began flipping through the camera feeds.

Mangle let its tongue droop a little as it leaned closer over his shoulder, and watched the grayscale footage with too much interest for its own good. Phil angled an eye at it, sighed, and proceeded to flick his fingers over the screen to slide the view about.

The colorless outlines of every room came to play, Mangle looking at them each with a different variant of a confused glare.

Finally, it meeped, loudly, when the view of the main lobby came too, and the stage with the deadly gang of death filled the screen.

Phillip himself shivered to the sight, he grunted in discomfort as the Mangle attempted to lodge itself between his back and the chair cushion it pressed too.

"-W-would you-" He pushed a bit on the rowdy animatronic harder. "-Would you STOP IT?!"

"Those are the meanies!"

"For once, I understand what you're saying..."

The Mangle growled, jabbing a pipe in the hideous chicken's direction through the tablet. "She a monster!"

Phil actually found it comedic, the Mangle, the MANGLE, calling another one of its kind a MONSTER. It was just ironic, and frankly freaky, but by this point in the whole situation, who the frag was he to judge?

"Yeah, quackers is quite the bi-otch, ain't she?"

"Philly? What's a... Bee-awch?"

"Nevermind I said anything..."

**_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK_**

Oh, this would be interesting.

Phillip and the Mangle jabbed their views to the window by the left side of the office, Phillip rolling his eyes in musing, possible hope of being saved from his new 'Buddy' and the Mangle grew frozen, like a fearful animal.

Phillip took no notice as he stepped up to the door, waved his hand a little in the clear surface of the window, and went to thumb the open button.

Mangle's jaw made a squeak, a sizable clanging of hollow metal was heard, dulled by a synthetic covering, and its head suddenly felt a tad lighter. With wide- Scratch that- With A wide EYE, the mentally incoherent animatronic watched with horror to its human friend's actions.

Without thought, a hand-topped tentacle flung out and retrieved its fallen lower jaw, before hinging it back into an ajar position.

Like wildfire, the Mangle's pipe-limbs flailed briefly, then they clasped around the chair it still sat atop, and within seconds of distress, the discombobulated little freak had hurled itself from the seat, and through the air in a hurtling tangle.

"Hey," Phillip greeted Foxy awkwardly, as per-normal. "Right on time!"

"Hello, Phil... I assume you... Ahem, um, MET, one of the other resident's recently-"

"Foxy, you have NO IDEA-"

"I'LL SAVE YOU PHILLY!"

Foxy's expression of surprise was eviscerated in a split second, a series of movements snapping the calm mood aside like a bothersome house fly, for not only did Phillip shriek girlishly, startled, but a wad of flailing steel was now...

-Well, obscuring Foxy's face.

"MANGLE?! ARE YOU INSANE?!" Phil barked.

"Me save you from bad meanies! Go, Philly! Run! Run for hills! Watch out for-" The Mangle heaved in a desperate breath from its rapid rambling "-For MOUNTAIN LIONS!"

"_Mangle..._"

The crazed, fearful and hyperventilating animatronic raised a brow when Foxy's muffled speech rumbled from beneath its coiling limbs.

"Foxy! Hiiiiiiiii Foxxxy!" The Mangle exclaimed cheerily, using a spare hand to pat the stiffened fox's shoulder. Gradually, Foxy's arms, previously stuck outward from the following intrusive invasion of space, lowered to her hips sullenly.

"_Mangle._"

"Yes, Foxy?"

"_Get off of my face._"

In an expedient switch of hands, Mangle's features grew distressed to the fact of its position atop the fellow animatronic's head. It frowned a tad, and slowly began to slither and clamber off of Foxy's face, pipes and mechanical mishmashed parts sliding aside to reveal her dulled, unreadable expression beneath.

The most Phillip could judge from her was the evident grimace over her chops.

As if on cue, Phil shifted in his stand as the Mangle slung its limbs over his shoulders once more, and zipped from one carrier to another in a quickened flail. The human rolled his eyes whilst his newfound shadow spun clockwise, much like a settling cat, with its tentacles, and buried its chin and neck into his hair, peeking out above the scalp-line with intrigue.

He grinned dumbly at Foxy, who in turn, blew a gust from her left nostril to dispatch a tuft of white Mangle-fur from its interior, awkwardly letting the ball of fuzz settle to the floor at her feet silently.

"-Um, so... I guess you both um... Know each othe-?"

"WE BESTEST FRIENDS! Like you me, Philly!"

Despite the shriek of an interruption, the Mangle held its stupid smile the entirety of the time, and Foxy attempted to appear... POLITE, if the least, to Phillip himself.

"Yes, Mangle has been here as long as I have."

"Foxy the best! We had sleepovers, and pizza-parties, and we sang songs-"

The Mangle's list went on and on from the top of Phil's head, and yet he found that distance from ear to cranium satisfying, and long enough, to tune out the cheerful babbling from his hair.

"Its been QUITE the ride, as you can imagine." Foxy smiled shyly to the display, taking the final step inside the office for Phil to close the door. The resounding bang of impacted steel to concrete, and the security guard gave her a look, that could only be observed as sympathy with a side of praying for a lost soul.

"You've known... IT, for TWENTY YEARS?!" He hoarsely whispered, Mangle's rant still echoing above. "-How are you still, like, ALIVE?"

"Beats the hell outta me..." Foxy grumbled. "I have to deal with a constipated shithead bear who thinks he's Al Capone, AND, his asylum-denizen gangers, the rickety scary shack called Freddy's... But THAT," She gestured lightly with her hook to the top of his head.

"-There is no amount of evil to counter THAT."

"Well, it's not all that bad once you get to know it-"

"Do yourself a favor, stop calling HER, IT."

Phillip's head rolled, and he leaned in closer, foolishly letting is voice raise.

"-So it- I mean- SHE, is a SHE?"

"Big eyelashes, nails that leave gashes, voice high-pitched and funny, its probably got a c-"

"Alright, don't even finish that, I'll puke."

Foxy shrugged idly with a teasing upraised set of teeth.

"Hey! Philly?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I has more tea?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Savagery was for the weak willed, right?

Mindless bloodlust was only to allow the fools, the hollowed weaklings that spoke of such a position and knew nothing hence forth, to succumb. He fed off of violence, just like any other of his previous position had, his kind were polar opposites, always a contrast to another source of life.

While some fed off of good and preserving happiness, GIVING to the lives of others, he survived by TAKING it.

His claws were stained to a point of no return, he knew that, and so did every other being in the entire building.

Bonnie was a sadistic, tortured soul enwrapped in the blasphemously limited prison he so affectionately dubbed, a 'Body', he was no berserker, by far, but nonetheless his appetite for the unsavory notions of evil had been deprived of him for months.

His one chance to finally experience the thrill, the excitement and satisfaction of release... His chance to KILL, and to rend the light from prey's eyes, was being thwarted...

Thwarted by his old rival in that damn Cove.

He'd be a fool to simply challenge the fox to a frontal fight, and he'd be dead before even considering the notion of stealth against her. Bonnie had changed into a dual-visage, two different egos of himself presented by two different parties.

Bonnie KNEW, that he was a calculating stalker, a predator confined to a... CHILDREN'S eatery of all things, that had the unmistakable profession of a master hunter, if he wanted a human or lesser being dead, he could, and would end them.

That was what flowed into his warped mind, and yet, that second ego, seen by all AROUND him, was the closest thing to the bleak, deeply and overall irrelevant truth of what the once innocent creature had been mutated too.

His past was a blur, his prior desires were lost in a red sea, and emotions that would make the sane of the world claw at their eyes, welled in him to a bubbling point every day and night.

But even with the horrific transformation that had long wracked his form, the falsities and lies fed to him by his leeching companions, Bonnie knew deep down, his knowledge on himself was the TRUE poison in the land of deceit.

He was a mindless pack dog, and he was at the heels of the ringleader...

A damned children's character.

A damned bear.

Over the years, damage had matted all of their hides, exposed internal skeletal workings, pipes and gears, parts had been used, reused, torn off, broken, burned, you name it, physical trauma was part of their lives.

They all looked worn and dampened from the years of infighting, but Freddy was different.

While the others beat the mass from each other, the bear rarely raised a fist in the whole thing, a collected remark here, an insult there, maybe a good scrap on bided time, but Freddy used manipulation like an assassin scoped his kills with a silenced rifle.

He always knew what to say and when to say it, and finally, when to deal enough trauma to yourself afterwards to make the perfect example of his dominance.

Evil gravitated to beings like him, so naturally, Chica had taken her stance at Freddy's side much quicker than any other animatronic could ever hope too. Foxy never took part, ended up in the Cove as of now, and Bonnie...

He wound up beside the two monsters, and then, to top it, BECAME, a monster.

Freddy wasn't a beacon to him, nor a symbol of authority, he was a chance slipping from his claws, a chance to enact his thirst for destruction without worry of repercussion.

Bonnie never said as such, and, neither did Freddy, but to put aside the shits and giggles, the knowledge was mutual and gradually dampening on any atmosphere they had the misfortune of drawing it upon mid-conversation.

"We're going to dismantle her."

Such boldness startled Bonnie from his locked-away head, and he narrowed his eyes to slits when the darkened hunch-back before him spoke to the tune of the shadow surrounding.

"That's IT?"

"No? To extreme?" The bear mused. "-Fine, bring me a barrel of octane."

"No, see, I'm not laughing, I never do, never WILL, don't drag me in your little cell unless you actually have something to say, worth listening too."

Bonnie hunched over a nearby pile of drums, spares, most likely used by some long gone human band on that olden stage, they fit appropriately with the shadowy back-area of the theater.

For all that though, Bonnie took notice to the larger animatronic now thoroughly enjoying his agitation, a brown paw adjusted the top hat that capped his cranium.

"Come now, B', when was the last time I EVER let you down?"

"Do you WANT me to spit on you?"

"I ASKED," The small pile of drums thrashed violently as the bear pounded a completely deceiving paw into the top girth, and shattered the leather of the drum's center in a murderous crack of impact.

"-When have I, ever, let you down?"

Bonnie growled in his throat, kicked his left heel to nudge away a broken instrument of prior origin idly.

Freddy let nearly three rows of serrated-looking teeth contrast the darkness with a pure wedge of dirty white.

"You see? You can't even answer me."

"And can you?" Bonnie snapped. "When was the last time YOU ever had an answer to your own questions?"

"Answers come and go, when I know what to do, I do it. There isn't a human alive, who can describe their personal decision making in words for all others to comprehend... What makes you think we, are any different?"

Of course, right after saying so, Freddy laughed like he had cracked a family-oriented joke at the Sunday table, his paws practically tugged at the bowtie he wore like a father would snap the morning paper back to attention.

"All I'm noting," Bonnie hissed. "-Is that you brought me here to tell me something we've been TRYING to do, for nearly thirty years!"

"Do I have to baby you through this as well?" Freddy asked emotionlessly. "Because you know what I'll say, how I'll say it, I've had you in this backstage for our, midnight social club, call it," The bear smirked. "For OVER thirty years."

"Thirty years of the same trash on the same platter, with different decorations."

"Thirty years of weaved planning on the same goal, that I have been FORCED to hold your mal-fucking hand through the entirety of." Freddy snapped.

Bonnie looked impassive, and watched with malice burning beneath angered pupils as his ally, if even that, stalked towards the front of the stage with lumbering strides.

Freddy pulled the curtain backwards, jabbed vision to the swerving security camera at the top left corner of the main lobby to the place. He tugged at his jaw, and slipped back behind stage before the lens could follow.

"We have the right interval, the right angle and opportunity. Starting this week, the thorns in our sides are to be removed, however PAINFUL the process may be..." Bonnie didn't flinch when the bear stabbed a dirtied, elongated claw nail, much like the rabbit's own, into the joint between his eyes.

"You had thirty years to prepare. I've let you kill when, and who you want, and I've let you get away with things that perturbed me enough to prematurely end one's life. The funny papers are history, B'. Welcome to the obituary section."

-0-0-0-0-0-


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

Lookout World! Now I Have Two!

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"The budget of a guard is inhospitable. If your low on groceries, have five dollars, and a choice between cam lens-cleaner and food for that day, you know which too buy... "_**

**_-Writ 16 of Surveillance. _**

"So... What have you been... Up, to? Maybe?"

"Not up! DOWN! Basement blows! It really dark and scary! Me just conserve power..."

"Be careful with resting your power-packs, hon, they'll wear from sleep mode."

"Me hate being girl!"

"I hear you sister."

Phillip quirked an eye to that, sniggered uncomfortably, and went back to looking about the tablet for any signs of movement, tampering, odd sights. The rooms flipped back and forth, one after the other, and back again, and the guard found himself growing dull.

The repetitive sanction was killing him, but he was making more money than ANY job like this should have been giving, so, he dealt with it, and did his best to let Foxy take over with their new... Office resident, at least for awhile.

The tablet was stuck by his side on the chair again, he rolled his shoulders, and tossed his head about to spot something to preoccupy himself.

The Rome-era desk held nothing interesting, and certainly neither did any of the shelves or aluminum drawers in here...

Phil grumbled, yanked a bottle of Mountain Dew bulging from his torn-hoodie's pocket, and flicked the cap off sullenly. He took a large sip, and watched as Foxy said the right things, did the right things, and even gave the proper facial expressions to keep Mangle... CALM. If even fathomable.

"Me have to pee!"

The security guard's left eye bulged a bit from how high his brow arched, he had a look of dread over a horrified frown.

Holy sacksafrak, these things could PISS too?!

"Alright Mangle, take the air-shafts, you know where it is."

"Kaaaaaaaayyyy Foxxxxxyyyyy!"

The Mangle grinned inanely, and released a quick, loud 'Whee-!' only cut short by the clang of dislodged metal, and Phillip watched with shock as the ventilation cover on the ceiling of the office smacked at his feet by the chair.

There was an echoing cheer from the shafts as the Mangle sped towards the general direction of the bathroom through the roof... He guessed it was safer than wandering around with the other killers running about.

He shook his head rapidly to clear it, and gazed to Foxy, who, despite that whole conversation, now let her whole body slump forwards before him. She sighed, walked past his swivel chair towards the back of the office.

"Oh... My...-"

**_THUMP_**

"-GOD."

Foxy finished her mull with muffled speech as her face pressed into the wall back there, and slid on her brow a bit. Phil could've sworn for a brief moment, the animatronic fell asleep like that, standing, supporting her face against plaster.

It was quite a comedic sight.

"-Sorry...?" Phil shrugged. "I didn't mean too... Wake HER up..."

"She did that on her own." Foxy grumbled, leaning back, and letting her head slump backwards to its limit, and as a result, she stumbled a bit behind herself.

"But I'll tell you what she DIDN'T do on her own..."

Phil reclined a bit as Foxy angled her crooked gaze to him accusingly, taking tentative footfalls away from her recent face-perch, and emitting daggers with a cold stare.

The guard held his hands up with an honest shrug.

"SORRY! The hell was I to know she was a tea-addict?!"

"You should have seen the signs!" She snapped in exhausted agitation.

"Signs?! Again, how should I have known she was a mental-?!"

**_CLANG CLANG_**

**_THUMP_**

**_CRASH!_**

Perhaps the bathroom had never experienced such a volume of sound before, but Phil didn't have to be standing there to hear the muffled dropping of the ventilation cover from the ceiling, the tumbling of a falling body and breaking of a porcelain sink.

His shoulders hunched, head jabbed downwards, and the last few tiny clinks of glass debris clattering was a statement from some divine power.

"_Me okay!_"

Mangle's shrill outcry was dulled from the thud of a stall door.

Foxy just grinned at him like he was a moron, her paw slowly turning her eye-patch upwards to give him BOTH laughing pupils.

"-Fine... Just, look Fox', she showed up at like, seven in the MORNING, my sleep-deprived mind wasn't too clear..."

"I can respect that, but, even on note of THAT, how many cups of tea did you give her?" Foxy seemed smug, giving off a clank of moving gears as she leaned towards him a bit more. "-Hmmm? Philly?"

He shuddered at that name from Mangle, and frowned.

"t..."

"What? I can't HEAR you PHILLY..."

"TWO!" He barked.

"Oh god! I don't give a crap if she had a GUN to your head, you're batshit STUPID to give her that much!"

Phillip just ran a palm down his face as Foxy held her paw and hook to him pleadingly.

"WHY, PHIL?!"

"I DID-not KNOOWWWW!" He chimed in a sing-song tone, annoyed.

"_OoooOOOooo! Funny roley paper!_"

A series of rackety bumps as the toilet-paper holder in the stall was drained entirely. It was more than frightening that all of this could be heard in the office.

After all, the bathroom was only down the hall.

"You don't think the freaks will bug her, do you?" Phillip queried lowly.

Foxy looked dismissive, she waved her paw as if to provide ample evidence his worries were stupid, like his tea-giving moves back at his house.

"Pfft, even Chica wouldn't leap into that mess."

They paid no mind as similar disasters continued to echo from the laboratory, and the human just rolled his eyes, and stepped back to the tablet idling on the swivel seat.

The chair creaked as he sat in it, reclined, and switched through the views of the tablet, grumbling insults as he saw the other monstrosities trailing here and there, reappearing and moving to different rooms.

Even though they technically couldn't GET him, he still hated being under the same roof.

"Why do you... Watch them, Phillip?" Foxy supported her paw on the back of the chair's top, and leaned over his shoulder to view the screen.

Up at this distance, which was agonizingly short, Phil could detect a small whiff of air freshener, a seeming trademark of the dump, a scent that usually emanated off of old power tools, and the fabric-like tint of her fake fur.

Strangely, the only bad smell was the mechanical tinge previously described, and the young man felt a tad uncomfortable being this close to Foxy again, even though it was clear she was friendly.

He twitched nervously, and shrugged as response to her question.

"I dunno, makes me feel informed. I guess."

Foxy looked down at the top of his head from her stance, raised a brow.

"What's wrong? You sound odd..."

"Oh, n-no... I'm good."

"No your not."

"I said I'm good..."

"Nnyope. Lie detected."

"Holy sheepskin, I'm FINE!"

"Wrong ANNNSSSWEEERRRR... PHILLY."

"What's the RIGHT one then, Fox'?" He growled through gritted teeth.

With a yelp of sudden motion, Phil was spun around when she latched her hook in the fabric of the chair, and turned it to face her. The security guard hunched inwards of the cushions as she smiled toothily.

Metal and gold-colored teeth as sharp as nails formed a disheartening grin to him.

Subconsciously of course, Foxy hid her hook behind her hip afterwards.

"Tell me what's bugging ya..." She snickered like an appeased child, still holding the unbroken contest of staring like no tomorrow.

Phillip stared at her, and swallowed with agitation.

"Look, Foxy, I'm not... Adjusted yet, to physical contact with... A..."

He noted the more he talked, the more she deflated, he could literally see emotions that she hadn't experienced in a very long time draining from her. A faucet was left to drip, and that drip devolved into an outright weight on the handle.

If she could cry, the animatronic appeared on the verge of it.

Though, he assumed it wouldn't be ANYTHING like Mangle's little cliche of a torture tactic the prior night.

For all he knew, she might like, kick his buttocks for insulting her or something. Besides, he said to remind himself of her angry side, and the scars on the other animatronics were a proven fact to that.

But mother of lord, he was in a corner now, all because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Foxy had made it apparent so far, at least, from he had gathered about her person, that emotions were something of a lethal, controlled weapon within her mind. She took them seriously, personally, and was prone to violence when someone pushed buttons.

Phil believed she would put that aside to avoid hurting him, or, maybe, MAYBE even Mangle. He hoped he was right.

"-Fox' I'm not saying I dislike you or anything, or that I want you to leave! I'm just saying, I'm adjusting to..." He almost said THINGS, but caught himself. "-CREATURES, I've never been around before..."

That actually seemed to help, and Foxy rolled her shoulders out of their sagging at least.

"O-Oh... Okay."

"Foxy I'm sorry... I didn't mean it like that. Why would I? I can't even imagine the hardships I'm helping to relieve a bit, right?"

Her ears flicked upwards to that, and all of that draining heat suddenly warped back in when she narrowed her un-patched eye at him.

"What do you know of hardships, PHIL?"

He was expecting a possible response as such, but he still flinched a bit at her dangerous tone.

"-I... Nothing like you do." He admitted.

"Damn straight." She snapped, turning away with that same peculiar flushing on her cheek-bones to stare daggers at the wall.

Phil observed briefly, maybe a bit longer than needed just to adjust his eyes to the distance he had from her, and he forced himself to sit up in the chair, feeling his hair stand on edge from the increased proximity.

He huffed again, and held his hand out, tentatively, and hesitantly.

Foxy snorted before he made contact, and with a startled yip, she practically tumbled backwards, taking the chair, and poor Phil, with her. Naturally, the loudest crash imaginable wracked the office, and yet the damage was nonexistent.

The tablet slid beside the old crusty desk with a hiss of movement, and Phillip clenched his eyes shut, and held on for dear life to his imaginary teddy bear, some vain, childish effort to rid himself of the fall.

However, this TEDDY BEAR, wasn't so... UNREAL.

He tugged at the warm fur in his clasp, snapped his eyes open, and watched the still spinning wheel from the upside down chair that stood with its underside facing him, its seat and front flipped on top of the floor.

Phillip gulped, and continued trailing his vision to below him, where a speechless, unmoving Foxy stared back wildly, a furious tint of heat invading her facial features.

Sitting on her hips, he felt the alien contrast of hardened mechanical features, with the soft body-like outer coverings and surrounding internals.

In such a position, Foxy huffed in frustration and mortification, she shut her eyes and squeezed the fabric by his jeans with her paw, minding to carefully press down her hook on the opposite thigh. She sounded so... Defeated. There wasn't another word he found for it.

"-F-Foxy... I... Um..." He wobbly tried to rise, and only shifted on his stance.

She said nothing, because she couldn't get her mouth to work right, the animatronic just watched him with these innocent, pained eyes. It was like she was held back.

Which, to her, she was.

Truly, the young man was oblivious.

"Foooooxxxxyyyyy! Philllllly!"

A bang of impacted aluminum, and the tiled floor of the office clacked when a ragged mess flopped to the ground and turned to the two excitedly.

"Me back! What'd me miss-?"

Mangle stood motionless, silent, and slowly slithered over to the trainwreck before her.

The roughened animatronic sniffed the air, sniffed at them, and cocked her head curiously, completely unknowing of the several lines of toilet paper that trailed behind many of her pipe-limbs.

Just like that, Mangle smiled.

"NAUGHTY!" She snapped as if teasing a child, she looked up at the shocked Phillip. "Philly! Hey Philly! When you make little baby Phil-Foxy's can I be the god-mommy?!"

"OOOoooohh... My pride." Phillip jerked to a stand, and dusted himself off with a hand as he offered to help Foxy up.

The animatronic clasped his hand, stood, and snatched it away as if she touched a hot stove.

The two parties checked themselves over, glanced at each other, and stole away hurriedly several times, Phil having a bead of sweat trail his forehead, and Foxy still as red as a tomato.

Mangle frowned and watched on curiously.

"Me not get it."

**BEEP BEEP**

**BEEP**

**BEEP BEEP**

Foxy managed a brief, half-hearted smile as farewell to Phillip, and he the same, unfortunately, the night was over, and within minutes of that alarm on the tablet going off, the engine of Phil's Ford echoed outside, and he was gone.

He even forgot the Mangle.

Foxy had nearly finished her slow, slumped trek to the Cove when she yanked the door open, and took the first steps inside the morning-lit foyers.

She came a stop when she felt a tug on her ankle.

Foxy rolled her eyes, glared down at Mangle's tentacle lightly clenching her fur there, and the animatronic herself giving her trademark puppy-dog stare.

"NO." Was the first thing out of Foxy's mouth, and the scary thing was, the Mangle knew what she was refusing in the first place.

"BUT FOXXXXYYYYY! PHILLY LEFT ME! I NEEDZ A HOME!"

"Go back to the basement..." Foxy growled, stopping with a dreary, dead look when the Mangle gasped, and was suddenly dangling upside before her face with two of her hand-topped tentacles marking the ceiling in a forceful grasp.

"The basement's EVVVIIIIILLLLL!" She swayed to and fro at the end of her cry.

"Mangle-"

"Don't make me go back Fooooxxxyyyy-ACK!"

A clank of enclosed metal, and Foxy's paw snapped to a stranglehold on the Mangle's upside-down neck.

She pulled the now expressionless other closer to her head, and flicked her eye-patch up with a cast of her hook's side.

"Listen here, SISTER," She snapped. "I'M feeling pretty EVIL too right now, so if you get me angry enough, I don't care! I'll tie you in a knot too the BOILER pipe down there!"

The Mangle sniffed awkwardly, blinked.

"CAPISH?!"

When there was only silence, Foxy cast her palm away, and stalked beside the now quickly swaying, silent badger who was apparently not going to leave until she was lodged. Naturally, where the heck else was the weirdy going to go?

Another cobbling of movement, this time, on the wooden floor of the Cove, and Foxy had just swept the curtain aside when she snarled down at her foot, thoroughly hugged by a wide-eyed Mangle.

"PWEASE?" She squeaked.

"God almighty..." Foxy pinched the fur between her eyes, jabbed her hook to the assortment of chairs on the left side of the particular main room of the Cove. "-THERE, go make a-a... A CHAIR-FORT or something..."

"THAANNNNNKKKKKSSSSS FOOOOOXXXXXXXXYYYYYYY!"

Mangle slithered away, giddy, and giggled to herself as she vanished in the mess of chairs to do heaven-knows what.

A final sigh of defeat, and Foxy hid herself in the Cove stage as she had for years. Now though, her thoughts were of self-chastisement over her new human friend being revolted to touch her.

Meanwhile, she was practically ogling him every second, if that told anybody the whole tale. She was in a bad place with herself, and her existence felt quite heavy when she went into a deep rest.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Stalking through the darkness just came natural to him, it was a trait he was almost 'Born' if you will, with. The state of illumination was unheeded no matter what part of the building he was in.

Through the years of his behavior, his murderous habits, Bonnie's eyes were all but inept at being hindered by blackness, whether day or night, he could see and end you without hesitation. Even without DIFFICULTY if you were foolish, or just plain oblivious.

That was something akin to a reminisce, for in the past, he at least had SOMETHING to deal death too.

Clawing up posterboards on the walls only relieved his need to cut things for so long.

There wasn't even reason for him to growl like he did, nor for him to do it ALOUD, because in the long run of things, he did indeed never know where the others wandered about nightly.

He didn't have to worry about Freddy, after all, he WAS an 'Ally' of sorts for now.

True as well, Foxy wasn't a problem as of lately, since she was too busy frolicking around in that damn office the human had locked down. But as if on cue, the only REAL threat he had groaned in his hearing in its normal, disturbing croak.

Bonnie didn't even give acknowledgement, he was in no mood for a pointless scrap.

Bravely, perhaps stupidly, he begged the divine powers for his would-be trail to lose interest. He had just declined to even perceive her existence, so maybe she'd get a clue.

"Bonnniieeee..."

But no, this was Chica. Nothing connected to logical thought even grazed her mind. Ever.

He should have seen that coming. There would be a better chance of solitude of he BEAT the excitement out of her, instead of just brushing her off.

Her voice was like listening to a squealing bar of metal form its racket into english words, even Bonnie cringed at its presentation.

"Sod off..." He grumbled. A last attempt.

"Hmmmhmmmm..." The dark mused. "Where's the FUN?"

"Its dead, been dead, always is DEAD." He grumbled. "Back off, we traded our bruises this week."

He actually thought he heard footfalls in the OPPOSITE direction he tread, and yet, that would have been too easy. The avian didn't even give him a chance to face her, because Bonnie's world went bright with flared streams of discomfort, his head jerked raggedly, and the metals beneath his cheek indented noisily.

Bonnie snarled and reared his face away from Chica's retracting fist, angling his left shoulder downwards to reel away from the belligerent.

His assaulter cackled in satisfaction.

"Cut the garbage, fight me."

"Go to hell..." He spat a chunk of shrapnel on the floor.

Again, his vision rocked when Chica's full leg reared back, and planted her knee into the rabbit's chin, shrieking out cries of tortured aluminum, he stumbled back with a bark of anger.

She laughed. She ALWAYS laughed, even when she lost.

Bonnie just glared, his jaw crookedly hanging lower by its left hinge. He reached up, and shoved his palm to snap the bolts to proper angles. His mouth jerked, and he rolled it with narrowed eyes to her.

"FIGHT ME." She growled.

"Save it for one of our GENIOUS plans, freak-"

**_CLANK_**

His head was tossed westward, Chica effectively clocking him with a perfected hook.

Pain was immaterial to him, so without hitch, Bonnie spun around and returned the favor.

Chica's chuckle was brashly silenced when he wrapped his flexing digits over her scalp, squeezed her, and brought her head with his flung out wrist. A moment later, Bonnie slammed her face into the wall of the hallway they stood in, cracking the tile there an causing the animatronic to gurgle more laughter.

"Stupid BITCH." He growled.

"-Ack! CLASSIC BON'!"

"Shut up."

Bonnie clenched his fingers tighter, drew her back in a swipe of motion, and reapplied her head for a second time with a **_CRACK! _**as a tile dislodged from the wall.

A hellish growl, and Bonnie tore away from her, stepping back into the middle of the passage. Chica threw herself off the wall, and backpeddled into him with a stumbling hurl of her own body. They collided to the ground, two dirty-yellow fists pressing his neck into the filthy floor.

Chica had this enthralled, toothy grin plastered on her face as she practically watched herself uselessly strangle her fellow animatronic.

Bonnie hacked, and buried his foot into her groin.

Chica's new tumble forwards ended in a collapsed heap into the opposite wall.

Finally, when the thuds and bumps stopped, her rolling form heaved quietly, and she stared at him with an ugly sense of accomplishment, to which, he did not respond. If he could ACTUALLY kill her, he would. But every time she'd been dismantled, she found a way to repair herself, if barely at a moment.

He had no patience to break all of her up and destroy every piece.

Even then, insanity alone would bring her back.

Bonnie stood shakily, wiped his smudged fur by his chops, and eyed the unmoving other. There were no words, and he stumbled to support himself against a doorway when he tried to move.

Apparently, Chica saw this, and giggled as she wobbled to a similar stance, and lumbered away, injured, to the darkness she'd emerged from. There was her fix. Now, she was gone, he was free to carry on. The nightly cycle remained unbroken, he still saw.

Bonnie felt the adrenaline he hadn't met for so long flush from his system, and at the same time he felt relieved the fight was over, he felt angry the thrill was gone.

Chica had done all she needed too.

"-She... Accomplished NOTHING..." He flared his teeth to the air before him.

By the time sun came up, he hid himself in the back of the stage to form hasty repairs. Freddy of course, said nothing, did nothing, he just watched with the barest of a grin.

-0-0-0-0-0-


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

Respect Your Elders.

-0-0-0-0-0-

******_"You brought lunch?! Its your shift! No breaks! Your fired!"_**

**_-Writ 18 of Surveillance. _**

At the eve of a band new day, the world seemed different than its usual ambience.

Surely, this wasn't just because of his new occupation, obviously living robots can do that too you. But today, this PARTICULAR day of the week was... Just more strange.

With bedsheets tossed aside, head risen in a great yawn, Phillip Linn cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders, than cast a quick glance to the calendar on his closet door, wound up staring at it for at least ten minutes.

Brightly lit with red script, was the single name of this week mark he was the most anxious about.

"Oh crap... Its Friday."

For the normal masses, Friday meant good things, last day of work for the week, the weekEND was coming, some time to sit back and relax.

That should have meant extra good things for ole' Phil, after all, he was up until 6 in the morning every night with this job. Yet the prevalent question of the year was apparent...

What would the animatronics do while he was away?

Mostly out of habit now, he was concerned for Foxy, for the fact that with him in play, the other monstrosities were going nuts trying to get to him AROUND her... What if they upped-the-antie on Saturday? Where he couldn't help her...

And to add, he doubted the Mangle would do anything to make that better.

Brunch, albeit, was slow that afternoon, and Phil found himself glancing around his home a bit more than usual in some vain worry of his late-night guest showing up out of nowhere.

He could practically still hear the Mangle's shrill pet names she'd taken to calling him.

A blare of ringing, electronic alarms, and Phillip started from where he sat at his kitchen table, idly typing away on his laptop to finish up a new chapter of his favorite videogame tales he spun online. He had just written a sentence about his character pranking a mighty Dragon when the phone rang.

He snorted, hit the period key, and chuckled at the thought of nail polish until he hurried over to the machine on his counter, and snatched the device to his ear.

"Hello? Linn residence-"

"Mr. Linn? How are you? Its Matt."

Phillip coughed nervously, went to inquire this seemingly stalker-ish knowledge his boss had, and shut his mouth when he remembered the information on his resume papers.

"-H-Hey boss... What do you need?"

"Mr. Linn I know your shift doesn't start for another few hours, but I would like to request your presence here."

"-Legit?" Phil clenched the receiver and gazed at the ceiling, before holding the phone back up.

"What for, Matt?"

"Because we need to discuss-" There was the blurred breaking of glass in the backdrop, and the low apology of a burly janitor.

Phil felt an eye twitch when his boss hissed a sigh into the line.

"-We need to discuss the damages. I'll see you in a bit, Mr. Linn."

The phone blared to silence, and Phillip ground his teeth before slamming it back down.

Half of that beautiful paycheck was going to get sucked up as his boss showed off his gratitude... By collecting green for the mess Mangle maid last night. Honestly, he had forgotten about it.

Phil heard the echoing voice of the Mangle's singing in his head the whole time he got dressed, and then, to add insult to insult, he caught his own hand in the door to his Ford.

**_WHACK_**

"OUCH!"

Phillip barked and retracted his arm inside the vehicle, he glared daggers of bloody doom at his red fingers, and rubbed them while using his heel to pull the door shut.

With a grumble, the keys clinked, the car growled, and he pulled into reverse before lightly trotting on the gas.

"Martyr... Pfft, my grandad's wrinkled-"

His Ford bucked audibly, and the wooden clack of a dislodged stake sounded outside his vehicle.

"BAAAHHHH! Who the hell needs MAIL anyway?!"

Phil's mailbox was further dented and destroyed when he finished backing over it, and sped down his street to get on the main roads. For his boss may have been a nice/evil little old man, but there was no amount of money to alleviate stress as this.

Besides, its just a fragging piece of property right? RIGHT?! Don't worry! I'll go get my check after narrowly dodging demonic man-eaters tonight! No, I'm no demon hunter! I work at the pizza place down the street!

He almost wished that check was a pink-slip today.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sticking out among the boring, lifeless parking lot were but three vehicles, and only three.

Most noticeably of course, was the old van, rusted and browned in its paintjob, the wheels screamed a presentation of a soon-to-be blowout. In fact, putting aside the sorry chassis, the glass was so dull, not dirty just... Dull; that the other cars nearby weren't reflected at all.

To the left a few spaces down, was a white van with a large dent in the left rear bumper from the time its driver had near rammed the curb in a rush to work. This was the second janitor's ride, a portly fellow, much like his comrade, named Steven, and Phil found the boy a tad... Well...Whacked.

Steven was a freaky-peepy.

All the more reason to be drawn to the Prius model parked next to Matt's van, painted a vibrant red with a black interior, an a logo proudly reading 'SEMPER FI' on its rear windshield, this was Zack's car, the head custodian.

Phillip never socialized with the staff much, but if there was a man he actually talked too with more than just three words an hour, it was Zack.

He was heavy, dark skinned with gray hair that seemed to sheen with silver as a statement to his wisdom, for indeed, despite being a guy with a mop, Zack could break down society and the people in it like no other.

Phillip kind of had a bad feeling when he saw his buddy's car there anyway, since Zack only showed up for maintenance days... And, of course, the WORST messes when they happened.

His Ford bucked into place, and Phil exited the vehicle with a grumble as he stared to the smudged silver on his rear bumper, his mailbox having added another scar to the chewed-up dent beside it

Mangle had a bad habit of mangling things, hence the name, it appeared.

Needless, the front door was cast aside, and the agitated guard trod into the foyer, giving the stink-eye to the band of horrific killers that laughed silently back at him.

Frankly, if Matt wasn't such a die-hard wimp, Phillip would have loaded the animatronics on a dump-truck and hauled them to the scrap yard... He'd see how well they'd get up to stop him in a steel-crusher.

He snickered at the thought, and blinked in surprise when the man of prior mention blocked his vision.

"Zack, hey!" Phil greeted, taking his buddy's hand and giving some excuse of a grip to Zack's firm clasp.

"Aye Mr. Linn, the boss call you down?"

"Yeah, I'd assume about-"

"The irradiated laboratory? I'd assume correct." Zack chortled in a joking interjection.

"-I-Irradiated?"

"Mmmhmmm. Damn straight, boy."

The janitor motioned inside the doorway to the bathroom with a waved hand, and inside, as Phil lined himself up in the hall, he saw Steven wave a forearm briefly before securing his surgical mask, and reapplying a mop to a sickly, black smudge on the floor.

The security guard never thought the smell of Febreeze! could ever be this powerful, especially HERE in the capital of the air fresheners.

"W-What happened?"

"I'd ask yourself that, Phil." Zack sniggered.

"N-NO um... Matt said it happened before opening today." Phillip attempted to mask the truth with a stutter.

Whether that actually fooled the custodian or not was unsaid, but Zack just sniffed idly, and shrugged.

"Whatever. Nah, you hear me, I've been sweeping floors for five years, ain't ever seen a mess quite like this. I've seen ugly, man, and this is a totally different paintin' of ugly."

"Why's THAT?"

"Sink was smashed, mirror broken, stall door snapped, and hell... Smelled like someone took a pot of shit, mixed it with grease and boiled it in motor-oil..."

Phillip's face twisted in horror with every comparison Zack belted out, ironically, in a joking manner.

The janitor rubbed his chin, and reapplied a glove with a snap of latex on his left hand, patted Phil on the shoulder, and delved back into the mess of Hades without another word.

His eye jerked, and with a mumble, Phillip kept an emotionless stare to the floor until he reached Matt's office door, wrapping it thrice with his knuckles.

"Yes?" Came from inside.

"Its Phillip, Matt."

The door swung open, and Mathew smiled beamingly as he gestured for the guard to step in and have a seat on the garden chair before his desk.

Still plastered with WW2 propaganda, the office smelled like its usual fragrance of artificial excuses for air cleanliness, and Phil hid his nose under his shirt in response to the overwhelming stank in this dump. From front door to rear office door, this building had the assumption of an ajar manhole wafting all over it.

"So, before anything, Mr. Linn... You saw the shitter, right?"

"Yep, and its in shit."

"Quite, now... Look at this-"

Matt strolled to the back of the room, and yanked out a small, previously unseen portable refrigerator from behind a shelving unit, patting its top quickly, and yanking the handle to open it.

With a blast of mist, the fridge popped ajar, and as response, several ransacked food containers and bags clattered in the broken lower drawers. Further inspection revealed bottles of soda, water and juice tossed about the upper rungs, and... Apparently throughout the office.

Whipping his vision about the floor, many Coca-Cola bottles and Poland Spring were dotted about the carpeting, their contents untouched.

Then... He saw the Snapple can.

Then he saw the pile of smashed, completely drained Snapple CANS in the back corner.

Obviously, something terrible had happened.

"Oh shit..." Phillip muttered, eyeing the tossed cans like a pile of corpses, minding how tea stains on the wall back there were smeared by the marks of a lapping tongue as well.

"Mr. Linn... I did tell you to call me if something happened. What did they-" Matt cut himself off, and hurried around his desk to snap the door shut to the room entirely.

"-Did they get in a big fight or what?"

Phillip sighed.

"Look boss, throughout our entire professional relationship at this pizza shack, I've broken things down around these animatronics with elongated, and quite angry rants..."

Mathew nodded skeptically.

"-But I'm going to sum this up quicker than any explanation we've ever given each other, or most likely ever will."

Phillip turned too his manager with a dead look.

"Matt, the Mangle likes me. She likes me a lot. All I ask for is your prayers for me tonight, and forgiveness for the mess..."

"Alright but that doesn't explain-" The old man went silent, mouth half opened for his next words, finger raised.

His jaw clapped shut and his hand balled at his hip.

"-Actually Mr. Linn that explains everything." He stated.

Phillip smiled cheaply with an apologetic shrug.

"Well, since you are indeed risking your life with this... You've kept this place's secret so I intend to return the favor. I'll fix the damages up this weekend, and we'll... We'll see about methods for controlling the Mangle..."

"Why? You've dealt with her too-?"

"Oh YES. The Mangle's a..." Phillip never proved it, but he could've sworn Mathew wiped a trailing bead of drool from his mouth when his speech stopped for a second. "-A, um... UNIQUE, character."

"That's generously put... Listen, boss, about the weekend, what will the animatronics do while I'm off?"

"Ehm-" Matt shook his head to recover himself and blinked. "-Normally they don't do much. There's no people even around the building at that time."

"What about Foxy and the..." Phillip shivered. "-The MANGLE?"

"What about them?"

"Then trio of death knows they hang out with me in the office, boss."

"Hang OUT?"

Phillip raised a brow to Matt's sudden interest, the short old man practically leapt closer in astonishment.

"-That hook-wielding vulpine has been SOCIALIZING with you continuously?"

"...Yes...?"

"Good lord! That's astonishing! That's... Unlike her... And the Mangle is with her?"

"Not by her choice I'd think."

"Mr. Linn! This is our chance! Quickly, come with me and take that can of mace you've been trying to hide from me for a week, let's go!"

Phillip jumped with wide eyes, and instinctively snatched hold of the can hidden in the back of his hoody.

"-How did-?"

"No time! Come my boy!"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Within the dusty walls of forgotten prospect, there was no exaggeration to the fact a time capsule was concealed, and harbored like a festering growth unattended too for decades.

The Cove was a literal tumor on the rear of the building, for when somewhat vibrant colors of fresh paint, recent additions to newer cork boards nailed to the tile, icons of pizza slices lessened in number... Freddy's became the back-alley of a slum.

The plaster that coated the walls here was matted, stained, and would make you cough uncontrollably upon brushing a palm over their surface, and disturbing the layers of dust.

Carpet, concrete and tiled floors evaporated more every hall until olden wood made the ground, and less and less light fixtures on the ceiling were actually functioning. Several lobbies, individual bathrooms and an entirely unseen eating lounge all connected to the Cove like satellites.

All of them were evenly neglected, the worst of the rooms still had footprints barely seeable under mountains of dust and debris from where feet were the only wear on the matt of filth so long ago.

Mathew hurriedly kicked up clouds of smog when he stepped through it, and Phillip found enough gunk in the air to make an excuse for coning his nose under his shirt's neckline.

Frankly he'd had no idea that Foxy actually... Called this part of the building home.

"Boss, this joint's a wreck."

"Quite, I've been forced to keep it like this under the guise of 'Renovations' since '87-"

"-Foxy wasn't exaggerating then?"

"Not at all." Mathew stopped them briefly in the mess, and waved a hand about him, seemingly unaltered by the atmospheric mess that clouded about them lingeringly.

"-Mr. Linn, you've spoken to her more than any human has at a single time, but many years ago, before and after the attack that wrought her here, I indeed have heard her sides and words. Phillip, I'm excited about this because I believe you can finally resolve this travesty!"

"Resolve? Man, you really are starting to freak me out-"

"This way, through the door, come-come!"

Phillip gagged when Matt shoved past, knocked his covering shirt away, and snapped open a rickety door behind the guard with a quick tug.

It shrieked on rusted hinges, and the wood snapped and creaked audibly when his boss held it open, waved a hand for quickened pace.

"If I had known my part-time job was going to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, I'd have brought a rulebook book, Matt-!"

"Phillip," Whether the old man heard his taller employee's words was never disclosed, for the short manager held a forearm out to the new room they stood in, stacked with chairs and tables like a wall of debris on all corners.

"-Welcome to Pirate Cove."

There was no dramatic move-ish moment of a dropped jaw, and silent gaping for dramatic music, but Phil did indeed remain silent as he gazed around to Foxy's literal prison.

Wooden bottoms and floors to plaster walls, a paneled ceiling, two boarded windows at the top height of the sides, all evenly coated in garbage and wear, and every single chair and table stacked in a series of great piles.

Yet the only centerpiece was a circular stage enwrapped in a purple, white-spotted curtain, several battered, broken pieces of wooden trash were piled behind the upraising, and when they stepped closer, Phillip realized they were nautical sailship props.

"Damn..." Phillip grumbled in pity.

"-As you can tell, Mr. Linn, its daytime, thus the animatronics won't be active, including our friend here and... Wherever the Mangle has run off to-"

"PHILLY BROUGHT FRIENDS! YAAAAAYYYYYY!"

Phillip vanished from his boss' vision in a ragdolled jerk of impact, his head angling opposite the impact in an angle that was prone to causing injury.

Despite the guard giving off a cut 'Oof-!' before falling, Matt wheezed in sudden surprise, and held a clutching hand to his chest with an exaggerated exhale.

Phil lay on the dusty floor silently, eyes wide, right one twitching, as a tentacled mess formed a wrap of junk and hugging metal about his midsection, and the white-furred, vulpine head of the Mangle zipped into his face with a beaming, toothy smile.

"Hhiiiiiiiii Philly!" She chirped.

"H-hi, Mangle..." He croaked in pain.

"Its unexpected, but I suppose Mangle isn't affected by the sun after all..."

"OOOoooooOOOOoooo... Who is you?"

Matt angled back a bit when the crazed animatronic jutted off of Phillip to latch to the ceiling above, dangle upside-down in front of the aged man's face with a curious indent of her chops.

She rocked a bit in her hang, and sniffed in his direction.

"-H-hello, Mangle... You met me many years ago, remember? My name is Mat-"

"WAIT!"

He jerked in startle when she shrilly cut him off, and lidded her one good eye whilst rubbing her chin with a spare foot.

"Lemme guess..."

"... There's no need, Mangle, I was about-"

"-Your Bill!"

"...No."

"-Fredrich?"

"No, I'm-"

"Bob!"

"Mangle, please let me-"

"Me know! ME KNOW! Your DAVID HASSLEHOFF!"

"Pfft, I wish. No, I'm Mathew, the manager."

The Mangle dropped her limbs awkwardly, cocked her head to the elder she hung in front of, stared dumbly for a good few seconds as Phil gathered himself to a stand.

"Doesn't ring any smells mister!"

"Its BELLS, Mangle-" Phillip coughed when he dusted his hoody off, and hacked in awkward surprise when the Mangle swung over akin to a deranged primate, and looped over his shoulders to falsely attempt a knuckle-sandwich with a foot-heel instead.

"Silly Philly! Me has no bells!"

"Get your foot out of my hair!"

"Mangle, are you sure you don't remember me?" Matt tried again with a raised hand to Phil's head.

"MmmMmm, nope!" Her muffled speech came from the poor guard's hair as she peaked over the black fuzz inquisitively.

"I was the one playing FUN on the radio, We are Young? You thought demons were contacting us and dumped axel grease on my head."

By now, the Mangle AND Phil were staring to the poor manager like he was insane.

And that was saying something, because the animatronic atop his head was the real nutjob here to begin with. Quite an ironic turn there.

"-My hair caught fire." Mathew added with a twitching grin.

The young man felt fingers drum on his scalp, and the freak atop his head gasped excitedly.

"-ME KNOW YOU! You scream funny!" She didn't leave her new buddy's head the whole time, and by now, her pipe-limbs were heightened in her random exacerbation of joy.

"Matty-Kins! Hiiiiii!"

Phillip clenched his fingers between his brows.

"Good lord... It'll never end."

-0-0-0-0-0-


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

Taking Risks is Healthy, Trust Me.

-0-0-0-0-0-

**_"A quick guide to capital punishment for intruders. Burglars get hit with a blunt, preferably a bat or golf club. Kidnappers are to be executed. Arsonists are to be executed. Vandals are to be executed. Here, I'll make it simple, all defilers of security are to be executed! Onwards, for safety!"_**

**_-Writ 20 of Surveillance. (PENDING PUBLISHER APPROVAL.) _**

"Matt I still don't understand your plan with this-"

"Don't worry, Phil... All will be made clear. Just follow me to my office again-"

"-Me want cuddles!"

Mid walk, it was quite difficult to maintain a steady stand when a crazed animatronic was digging its eared cranium into your ribs, and, you know, it just happened to be made of metal.

Phillip grunted with the Mangle's feline-like attentions, and shoved at her head in the opposite angle of which she pressed from.

"-Mangle, would you stop!"

"But Philly! I'z need ATTENTIONS!"

"You need to get a grip."

"Okey-Dokey!"

Matt couldn't tell whether he saw the situation as cute or disturbing, but nevertheless, he held his tongue with struggling jaws when the guard barked in agitation to a hand-capped pipe-limb wrapping around his thigh in a squeeze.

The Mangle giggled, giddy, and continuously oblivious to the annoyance she reaped on a epic scale.

In a prolonged struggle of flailing arms, kicking ankles, angry curses from a fed-up guard and child-like laughs from a deranged half-robotic organism, Phillip followed Matthew all the way to the office, and even shut the door behind them upon entering.

The old manager looked at the animatronic strangely, like someone did to an unseen, alien animal recently documented, he tried to keep composure whilst he sat behind his desk.

Finally, while his boss glared, waiting for the Mangle to stop at some point, Phil tugged a bit harder on the snake-like motions of his shadow, and pried her off of his flank with a forceful flinging of his wrists.

The Mangle yipped and hung, dangling, with three of her pipes caught in his clenched fist.

"Mangle. Knock. It. OFF."

"OooooooOooo... Me can do that!"

Phillip reclined in sudden horror when one of the Mangle's fists reared back, and connected with the tentacles he held, emitting a loud clang of contact, and effectively breaking them away from her whole.

He shrieked with the vigor of a little girl and dropped her, and her amputated limbs on the carpet.

Matt just clenched his brow in deliberate patience as the Mangle took great amusement to his reaction.

"Silly!" She taunted, the three pipes wriggling across the floor like worms, independent of her, and reattached to the mess of junk with clicks of confirmation. A second later, and she rolled them about briefly for a good test.

There was really no comment to even be made, especially since Phillip brushed the event off a second later, shook himself, and sat in the garden chair before the desk with narrowed eyes.

"Would you feel a bit better if I apologized?" Matthew mumbled.

"Probably not, old man... Probably not-" The security worker's speech was cut short as he yanked his hand away from the prehensile Mangle-tongue that curled about his palm from under the chair, and wiped his fingers on his pant-leg.

"Look Mr. Linn, I'm sorry if my excitement wasn't a clear as preferred. But I have decided you are the man for the real problem here, which I will explain, in FULL detail."

They both smiled at his past use of the line, and Matt pulled a small drawer from his end of the desk out, shuffled through many documents and clippings, and finally gave off a short 'Ah!' as he pushed a spare stapler away.

Phil angled his head curiously as his boss slapped a small folder on the desktop, its contents sealed with a tied miniature chainlink, of all things, and held in place with a small security lock.

"All that for a legal document? What gives?"

"Phillip, its not a document, its an evidence file. I've been collecting pieces of data, proof and theories to be disclosed since BEFORE '87..." Matthew took a key from his pocket, for within a moment, the lock clacked open, and he put both of the trinkets into the drawer whence they came.

"So you've been building a case file... For robots?"

"Me take offense, Philly!"

Phil's chair bucked a bit as the Mangle literally planted her cranium into the underside of the seat from her hidden stance down there.

The young man rolled his eyes.

"As you can see, they're not as robotic as first impressions give." Matt said musingly.

"That's an understatement, boss."

"Quite. Open the folder, Phillip, I'm trusting you with seeing this, and no other at the time."

Phillip was initially skeptical, but by this point, how crazy could the geezer be? Everything he had said so far had been... Well, right.

He chewed his own tongue a bit, and clasped the folder's gray exterior to flip the cover open, and almost gagged at the sight inside.

"-Oh Christ..." Phillip muttered, reaffirming his stare to a basic crimescene photograph, even labeled with the local precinct number of the state.

"Mr. Linn, Mangle is an odd breed here, and so is Foxy-"

"Foxxxxyyyy!"

Another jerk from under the chair, and Phillip did his best to ignore it.

Staying transfixed to the black and white picture on the desk, both men stared ominously to a middle-aged male sprawled on the floor of the office, the thin carpet of the place stained black in the colorless image.

In all honesty, it appeared as if the man's gut had been swept open by a buzz saw.

Matthew was expressionless.

"His name was George Harrolson, the first night guard here, one of the last too."

Matt flipped the photo to reveal several smaller camera shots printed on a large bristol sheet, all showing various injuries on arms, legs, shoulders, a few had wounds on their heads and backs.

"Many of these guards blacked out before they could even see what hit them. After 1987, business plummeted, not only had the papers published the Bite on every local issue, but now our employees were getting hurt by 'Break-In Attempts'. I had to lie to cover it."

"Matthew... Why wouldn't you let someone scrap the animatronics? The three freakshows on the stage I mean? This is... Insane, evil at most." Phillip sounded grim.

To a make a point with the atmosphere, Mangle's constant chattering and shuffling had even gone quiet beneath his garden chair of a seat.

"Mr. Linn, I realize you are not familiar with how these... Beings, if you will, work. Listen to me, I have thought the exact SAME thing you are. There is no beating around the bush when I say more people will die if that were to happen."

"By having the demonic whacks SCRAPPED?!" Phil barked, suddenly feeling indignant.

"Phillip I have tried three times, THREE TIMES! To have Freddy and his followers sent to a junkyard! And THREE TIMES, three scrap plants were reported to have suffered a criminal massacre! Three entire staffs of innocent workers murdered!"

Matthew pumped his fist into the top of the desk with a bang of contact.

"-Don't you think I have tried to see this logically, Phillip? Because I did what any NORMAL person would do, and I ended up getting nearly forty people butchered! Then, like flies too shit! The three of them just reappear on that-that-!"

He jabbed a finger towards the door in a half stand, pure anger and distress written in his chiseled features.

"-That god-damned stage! Grinning! MOCKING me for ending innocent lives! Then I find the records of them being sent there are gone as well! And any personal witnesses to the whole have also died in the incident!"

Phillip didn't know what to say as his boss slumped back into his chair, and stared down at the desk in a defeated fashion, brow convulsing, eyes cringed in sheer negativity.

"-I-I have... So much blood on my hands... Mr. Linn. I have been... Trying so long to end this... THAT, evil outside this office, by myself. And at the end of my rope I realize, I need help."

The guard felt chilled blood when Matt flipped his vision to his employee like a scrutinizing warlord on some medieval battlefield.

There wasn't much to say after that, and the old man just ran his palms down his face, wheezed a good breath, inhaled and exhaled, before leaning over the folder again to flip its contents. Phillip said and did nothing, seeing the prior photosheet move aside for a series of medical records; most likely the victims prior mentioned.

That went away also, and beneath was a small, plastic package, its contents blurred by smudged wrapping.

Matt glared, and looked to the guard, before swiping the plastic packaging away, and drawing forth a tiny note, which, strangely enough, was made of parchment.

"What is that?" Phil asked blandly.

"Mr. Linn... Out of all this information, this is the one thing I do not know."

The tiny scribble was unfurled, the material making dusty brushing noises, and handed to an awaiting hand of the guard.

Phillip tossed it lightly in his fingers to clear some debris, and read a small block of apparently hand-written text that, by all means, looked like it had been formed on the end of a quill.

"The 'eve of Tuesday will the shipments come forth." He read aloud, gazing to Matt curiously. "-What does that mean?"

"Look at the date." Matthew brushed it off with a casual wave of his hand.

Phil gawked at the note again, and narrowed his brows.

"1921?"

"Me and my mechanic, the one Foxy knew? In Chicago? We found that in a gear slot within Freddy's endoskeleton ribs..."

"You said they were old-?"

"-And by hell I wasn't jesting, Phillip."

As the two stared to the tiny parchment in the guard's clenched fingers, the broiled mess of metal called the Mangle, gradually stood to lean on Phil's shoulder, her head angled down to the note in her friend's hand.

She hummed idly while cleaning out the inside of a torn-in-half Snapple can held in a hand-capped pipe, with slithery licks of her outstretched, abnormally long, tongue.

"Look, Matt, I've been in this for long enough to know something is amiss... But I guess I haven't really seen the full extent of mafia-boy outside..."

"Let's keep it that way, Mr. Linn. With your help, we can gather our strength, me, you, and any animatronics willing to..." Matthew coughed as the Mangle sucked its licker back in with a loud, repulsive slurp, and waved to him with a toothy grin.

"-Ahem, willing to help." He finished.

"You want to make a team of crime fighters to remove Fredd and his pals from the picture?"

"You have a better idea, Mr. Linn?"

"There's no one we can go to for this... So... No, boss, I don't."

"Me like cupcakes." Mangle stated factually out of random.

"-Then its settled, Phillip. I think the Mangle will side with whoever Foxy sides with, but I need you to convince her, for I doubt ole' Fox' will listen to me, much less even LOOK at me."

Phillip tugged at his jaw and draped the parchment back into the gray folder on the desk.

The Mangle sniffed at him, and retrieved another torn open can from the floor to idly swirl her tongue inside as she stared at the World War 2 posters on the walls.

"Alright boss, I'll do it. I think if we combine our knowledge we can find a way to stop the trio of death... Specifically though, I'm not so sure how."

"Mr. Linn, we'll see if we can find a weakness first, then..." With a brief glance to the plastic still in the layered folder, Matt smiled cheaply. "-Then we will exploit it."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Philly, what were you and Matty-kins talking about?"

"Not now, Mangle..."

Phillip practically dismissed the animatronic with a grunt as he sat in the chair, swiveled it to the back of the office, and shut both the doors when the generator in the back hummed to activity.

Wrapped over his shoulders, she tangled mess of metal said nothing at first, rocked a bit with nervousness atop him, and then sniffed at his face a bit.

"Philly?"

"WHAT?" He snapped. "-Mangle, I get that your very lighthearted, and comical, and you have some... INTERESTING views on things, but I really, REALLY, need you to leave me alone right now."

The chair creaked as he leaned forwards, almost hunching to hide his face from the vulpine creature huddled on his back, and swiped about on the tablet in his lap. He grumbled when the normal three began their nightly routine.

**_CLUNK CLUNK_**

The Mangle shrieked and flew off of him faster than a mouse scurried off of an exposed trap, and her one good eye glowed in the darkness beneath the desk.

Phillip grumbled, stood up, and switched the light on outside to see his usual guest shift in her stance, and look blankly at the window he peered through. She gestured for the door with an angled brow, and he hurried over to slap the button.

The second the metal folded into the wall, she stepped in with a quiet, near inaudible greeting, and didn't pay mind when the door shut afterwards.

"Hey Fox'..."

"Hi."

"So what's the deal for tonight?"

Foxy looked as if she didn't hear him, and just shrugged to confirm otherwise.

"Hiiiiii Foooxxxxxxyyyyy..." Mangle meeped in a drawn out vocal beneath the desk, and slowly slithered out to wave with a spare foot.

If there was any indication to present tension, it was this quite complicated little cliche of a mess before him. Foxy had the expression of someone trapped in a sauna while wearing a jacket, and Mangle tried to gaze between the two while remaining unnoticed.

A small grunt from the fox, and she scratched an itch by the joining of her wrist and hook, subtly buried the metal curve back beneath her forearms as she tended too.

Phil gave an attempt to smile, but crushed it with a grimace when Mangle just stared at the floor fidgeting, and Foxy didn't pay heed to ANY party's petty unconformity.

"Hey guys, look..." Phil started. "-I'm not feeling so hot right now alright? So I would imagine our little OFFICE HOUR," He snickered. "-Isn't very friendly at the moment-"

"That's downsizing the shit, Mm?" Foxy interjected, and Mangle said nothing.

"Foxy, its not about what happened last time, its-"

"Oh? I wasn't AWARE." She radiated dangerously in his direction, eye-patch flicked upwards and hook-tip barely grazing above the fur of her arms.

Phillip could potentially understand her plight, it wasn't easy to handle whatever emotions were flowing through her head after what, like, twenty years of not knowing them? He got it. How do you handle being physically/mentally... WHATEVER she had going, towards someone after that amount of time of solitude?

Kind of a nasty, unspoken conversation among the masses, right?

So he tried to compromise as always.

"I understand why you're mad-"

"Pfft. No you don't." Foxy factually huffed. "-No you don't." She repeated.

"C'mon that's not fair, you didn't let me finish-"

"See? If you knew ANYTHING, Phillip, you'd realize FAIR is the last word you wanna use around me..."

"Foxy just let me-"

"I've only known you a week, Phil, don't expect me to let your little point of view on me go like that-"

"Alright, that's enough! Fox' just stop for a second-!"

"What are you my father?" Her gold and white teeth snarled out at him, and her arms suddenly fell away, and that damned hook was hung by her hip like a assassin dangled a dagger in wait.

He gulped, kept an eye on it, and held his hands up angrily.

"I'm trying to tell you about the stress here, my reasoning for what I have and WILL say, and your cutting me off about last ni-!"

"Yep."

"FOXY SHUT UP!"

For a second, Phillip actually thought someone else had yelled in the office, and when it turned out that the bark came out of his throat, his hand clapped over his mouth as he spiraled to burn holes in the door behind him.

That wasn't good.

Not at all.

But at least he'd know the reason if she tore out his rectum with that hook.

There was the longest period of silence he had ever been cursed by before he went to turn, to say SOMETHING along the lines of an apology.

Of course, that little intent flew down the drain when his world whooshed past, the Mangle gave off some kind of complaint for Foxy to stop, and his head made contact with the metal of the door, back thoroughly compressed with it.

Two, yellow glowing eyes were in his face faster than humanly possible, which only gave more inclination to just how quick she really was.

The fact was, if you pissed Foxy off, she'd make you regret it, big time.

Phil just tried to keep calm, even when the hook he had always been so cautious of, that SHE had been cautious of, pressed into the ribs of his hoodie, and bumped the skin underneath his shirt.

He hacked a bit from the paw clamped over his lifted throat.

Foxy just stood there, hook brandished, eyes wild, Mangle giving off a shrill outcry for the action to stop every five second, Phil could've swore Foxy's shoulder jerked a few times from physical attempts by the mental patient to make it end.

She tried to move her mechanically affixed jaw, at a loss for what to say now that conflict was occurring, she just rolled her tongue, with no sound.

Finally, after what was like years being suspended by an angry animatronic, Foxy bowed her head, grumbled loudly, and barked out her frustration. He slid with a hiss of movement to the carpet below, and coughed a few times while rubbing his neck.

Frankly, Mangle had no idea what to do, she just sat in the center of the office, and stared between them in panic.

"-Y-You..." Foxy couldn't find a better word that wasn't reserved for those she hated. "-Damned SHITHEAD!"

"Matthew-" He hacked. "-Has me in on stopping them! Foxy, I wasn't-" Another interjection of his neck. "-Getting all pissed because you TOUCHED me last time! Jesus... I thought you would be over that already!"

"How could I get over that...?" Foxy mumbled.

"-Because I'm trying to adjust to you woman!" He snapped with some amount of irony. "-I've never exactly TALKED to a living animatronic before! God, THAT'S why in addition to the stress of destroying Care-Bear outside! I'm trying to get used too at least making contact with you..."

Nobody claimed any other time for words for a bit, and Phillip stood to his full height, cricked his back, and shuffled over to the tablet to check quickly.

The second he tossed it back on the swivel chair, he glared at Foxy again.

"So there, there's my reasoning for being a bit snappy tonight, Fox'. You told me you don't want to be alone? Then you need to learn alongside me, to COMPROMISE when things aren't fully understood by both people!"

Foxy gasped audibly when his hand clenched on the fur by her shoulder, and spun her to face him.

"-I'm sorry for my touchy little behavior, Foxy, look-"

Again, she stood there, slack jawed, when he clenched his hand to her paw, and tugged lightly.

"-I'll even shake your hand from now on whenever I see you if that helps the situation."

The more he talked, the more Phil's voice lowered in volume, he glared at the floor meaninglessly to all but himself, noted how Foxy just hugged her own shoulders at a complete loss as he.

Honestly, that was perhaps the best reason to stop yelling.

Like he was trying to persuade himself with those few moments ago, before... THIS.

She was indeed dealing with emotions he couldn't fathom, that had broiled for so long, it was passages of time he ALSO couldn't fathom.

Phillip blinked, and forced himself to reach up and take the animatronic's paw into his fingers again, finding the alien sensation of inner mechanics wrapped with... Something more LIVING, to be strange but not entirely perturbing.

Foxy didn't meet his gaze as he stood there gawking with awe at their connection, that, normal people saw much insignificance with.

Hands went everywhere, it was NORMAL for them to be used for greeting, agreeing, disagreeing, reassurance, trust, care... A plethora of emoticons this isolated being before him had never been fortunate enough to take part in until now.

And the culture shock, in a way, was an unknown taboo that she couldn't get a grip on.

It frightened her, she didn't need to tell him for him to know.

The animatronic huffed lowly, and rolled his fingers about experimentally, twisting furred, partially metal digits about his joints as if she'd found an alien gel.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." She mumbled. "-I finally get a break, and I screw it up."

"Fox' you finally got a break and reacted like whatever GAVE you that break, expected. Just... Its no big deal," He rolled his neck with a tiny snicker. "-Just don't snap my spine next time, kay?"

Foxy's golden and white teeth shown a bit in the light of the office, and she responded almost on a breeze of air than any form of normal voice.

"'Kay."

"Does this mean friends?"

They both glanced to the Mangle, who, suddenly perked up from her curl on the floor, though they both saw she had deflated a tad.

"Yes Mangle, we were buds before the fight happened, we're good," He smiled at the slightly taller vulpine and patted her paw with his other hand. "-It's all good. "

Phillip let Foxy release his palm instead of breaking contact, and hurried over to the chair to snatch the tablet up. Quickly he flipped through the views, shook his head, then remembered the date, time and day labeled in the corner of the screen.

He sighed, looked over his shoulder to see Mangle smiling nervously at Foxy, who just patted the little weirdy on the head with her paw.

"I'm fine, Mangle."

"Okey-Dokey, Foxxxyyy!"

"Phillip? What is it? You look... Funky again." Foxy mused lightly.

The Mangle gasped audibly, and threw herself across half of the office to latch onto Phil's back as he stumbled forwards slightly.

"Me think they got a battering ram!" She cried. "-Barricade the door! SAVE THE CHILDRENZ!"

Phillip actually felt relieved her normal antics returned in full force when the door to his left thunked deeply as the Mangle body-slammed it, and hugged across the front with her limbs. Her one good eye darted between herself and Foxy.

"-SAVE THE WOMENZ!"

"Calm down, Mangle, the freaks aren't doing anything, its just..." Phillip ended his chuckle, and showed the screen to Foxy with a finger aimed at the digital time label.

"Today's Friday."

Foxy blinked with her metal lids, and shrugged.

"... Okkkaaaayyyy? That does have something to do with Matthews little 'Plan' that I still need details on?"

"Does it have TEA?!" Again, the entire office thudded when the Mangle face-planted into the ceiling with a sizable leap, and left a dent on the aluminum vent just recently fixed.

"No, and HELL NO." Phillip frowned. "My shift stops on Friday? Remember? I was worried about Fredd's mob and what'd they do when they found I wasn't here with both of you."

Foxy suddenly looked more anxious, and Mangle snapped to attention from her daze on the floor, completely unaltered, nor aware, of her prior kamakaze spree into two structural surfaces.

"I don't know, Phillip..."

"Me suddenly crave Kiddy-Katty bar!"

"Well, Foxy I don't think its a good idea to-" Phillip considered his words carefully, sighed, and scratched his head. "-To, LEAVE you here with them."

She reclined her head as if she'd just been asked to defecate in the middle of a public plaza, and Mangle froze mid-recline from Phillip's hoody pocket, a Kit-Katt bar firmly clasped by one of her hands.

"-LEAVE me here, Phillip?"

"Yeh, meh fink dat obsuurd!" Mangle muffled when the bar, wrapper and all, was reduced to mush in her jaws.

"Phil, I haven't left the pizzeria in... I don't remember. Where would I go?"

There wasn't an amount of courage available to any mortal man to say what poor Phil wound up saying next, and from that forth, there was no doubt divine intervention was at hand, because the powers above just found some good entertainment with this scene.

It just so happened they got kicks out of making trainwrecks happen one after another.

Phillip's lips were numb, and he almost just keeled over from cardiac arrest right then and there. Because he really wasn't in his right mind when he responded with five, simple, yet audaciously ludicrous words.

"You could come with me."

-0-0-0-0-0-


	10. Chapter 10

**_Hey dudes and dudettes, if anybody is interested, I made a audio trailer on Youtube for Camera Angles, its posted on this link-_**

**_ /eLIHS68KsCM_**

**_Welp, off to digital carnage then. I have to get my thinking cap on for my other stuff too, the Spring Semester just started and I'm driving on the highway at 9:00 at night now. Holy fruijal-muffins, people drive like the Mangle would at that time it seems. :P_**

**_Have an awesome rest of your day/night peeps, I appreciate the Reviews I've gotten, thankyouz._**

**_-Don_**

Chapter 10.

Let's Find a New Dungeon!

-0-0-0-0-0-

**_"You are the camera, your eyes' the lenses, your nose the sound-receivers. Be one with the device, or better yet, drop this advice now and read a haiku book. It'll be faster and easier to understand. "_**

**_-Writ 29 of Surveillance. _**

The second that tablet croaked out its normal bleeps of confirming the time, Phillip stuck to viewing the pizzeria without break for nearly an hour, gesturing for his future... GUESTS, to stay inside the office with him a bit longer.

The nighttime atmosphere outside was beginning to barely light up, and Phillip knew if he didn't transport Foxy at least, soon, that the sun would literally shut her down due to exposure.

As creepy as it was, Matthew didn't need to know what he was doing, but Phillip used the knowledge he'd gathered over the misadventure now, and that was what really mattered. Since it was the breakage between summer and winter, mornings remained darker for longer.

He was hoping that would stall the light, not for himself obviously.

The stage now harbored the three, motionless beings that observed the area tenaciously, and completely still. Bonnie looked particularly miffed, if even possibly noticeable while frozen in rest. The rabbit animatronic was in continued conflict with the same fox keeping his only prey away.

So of course, he was angry, and Phil could deduce from what Foxy had told him, that Freddy was joining that shitshow soon as well.

"P-Philliiiippp?" Foxy murred. "-Whhheeenn are we... LEAVING?"

The door clanged as she shouldered into its side to hold herself steady.

It was 6:45, and he stared at the tablet for another minute, satisfied as he could be, shut it off and began to lock everything up, and close the generator.

There was a low drum of snoring, and Phil's back was hunched to the slumped over pile of junk that draped in a mess over his shoulders, the Mangle's jaws splayed as loud draws of noise scrabbled from her mouth.

She muttered something about a nickel, and the guard just rolled his shoulders to adjust to the weight. He stepped over to the tiring fox, and huffed, before slipping his arm under hers swiftly.

Through the hiss of his hoody brushing to her fur, some of Foxy's sun-drawn exhaustion was blown away as she zapped her vision to him with a quick turn of her head, her jaw quivered and that weird heat hued her facial features.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to the car and we'll get you some... Uh..." He stuttered whilst slapping the door button, and limping out into the hall with his companion in tow.

"-Some darkness. We'll get you some darkness." He said awkwardly with a frown.

Foxy processed his words for a few minutes, and actively responded when they had reached the back door near the Cove, he'd thought it too risky to leave through the front with the freakshows seeing them.

"From w-wheerrreeee?"

"In my house, Fox'."

The door just swung open when he grunted in sudden stress, Foxy swung herself off of him in a horrified gasp, she clattered her back to the brick wall of the building's rear, and hugged against it too stare at him, the sudden dark allowing more motor skills.

"-H-House?!" She snapped. "-I can't leave here, P-Phillip!"

"Yes you can." He grumbled, locking the entry with his key and motioning for her over.

"But I haven't in..." She trailed her speech, and dug her metal nails into the pavement of the sidewalk, her eyepatch flicked up, and she stared around the dark woodlands that surrounded the parking lot, individually traced patterns in the damp sky above.

"-In... In, EVER..." She was at a loss for words, and that allowed the guard to tow her again, and together, they worked towards the Ford still parked by the front.

Phillip eyed the main entrance, made sure nothing was standing behind the glass door to watch, and opened the rear door of the vehicle with his keys. He mumbled, and unceremoniously dumped the Mangle into a pile on the rear seat, as gently as possible for something on your back.

Her head rolled, and she snored at the car's ceiling loudly.

Phillip tugged Foxy to the front, watched the rising sun in the backdrop, and yanked the passenger side ajar.

"Alright, Fox', let's go!" He said enthusiastically as he could.

"P-Phillip... I can't..."

"C'mon Fox', I'm not leaving you here with them."

"But its been-"

"Around twenty years, I know."

Foxy was silent when he leaned closer, trying to multitask between comforting his friend, and adjusting himself to such proximity. The animatronic wasn't as... Intimidating at this distance, her glowing yellow eyes dimmed too him in emotional confliction.

Foxy rolled her jaw, and dimmed her lids to the ground at her feet.

Even exhausted, she sighed and scratched a line on the cement with her metal toenail.

"Trust me, you'll be fine."

"-Philly has... The... The BEST roomservice EVVAAARRRR..."

He smiled at the Mangle's drunken-sounding sleep-talk behind him, and nudged Foxy into the seat with effort.

She ducked her head, flicked her ears when they tapped at the roof, and leaned into the back of the seat with her knees pressed into the dashboard. Awkwardly, shifted about to get comfortable to whatever degree was possible.

The Ford shifted as the human jumped in and started the engine, making the animatronic jump at the sudden noise.

Phil grinned reassuringly, and the Ford backed away, all the while with Foxy now too tired from the growing amount of light to gawk, they left the lot wordlessly, and Freddy's would remain dark for its two days this week, as it did every week, every month.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It had taken Phillip longer to get on the freeway to his neighborhood than he had anticipated nor wanted, and sweat ran down his brow briefly before he snagged a tissue from the glove box and swiped it away.

Now that the sun was beaming down in its morning brightness onto the roof of his car, Foxy was out like an old tree log, and she was utterly silent, still, and idle in a slumped lean on the window of the passenger side, her jaw slacked open.

Even though he'd gotten the gist these creatures... Her KIND, if that, weren't entirely robotic, he still found it immaculately odd that small wheezes of sleep hissed from the inside of her throat.

In broad daylight, it gave the same effect onto her as alcohol did to a drunken person knocked out on the side of the road, so the animatronic wasn't going anywhere soon without his aid. Phillip sighed at that, scratched his hair, and focused on the road.

"Well... I can't say this will be... Entirely normal," He muttered, giving a brief rub of his palm on the fur of her shoulder. "But it's safer than staying in the dump."

He gave a 'Figures' face for that statement.

Fragging killer mental patients.

Never a good thing when they weren't human on top of that fact.

Phillip grumbled, suddenly aware of an elongated intake of air from the back seat, and checking the rear-view mirror, he started with an annoyed grunt as a widely splayed set of jaws opened back there.

The Mangle yawned much like a housecat would, except, she ended it with a girlish '-eeEEEEEeeekkk!' as her mouth snapped shut with a clang of metal, and her chops smacked a few times to confirm an end.

She looked about with a curious eye, a glint of playful explorative desire in it to the interior of the car, so, naturally, instead of doing what any logical being would do in a moving vehicle, with no recollection of GETTING in said vehicle, she enacted opposite.

In fact, Phillip went so far as to say she pulled a... Well, MANGLE.

The animatronic let her tongue droop out a bit as she wrapped her pipe limbs about the edges of the right rear mirror, tapped and slapped her digits about until locating the OPEN/CLOSE switch. She clicked it, and a light, morning breeze hissed into the car from the fastness of the highway.

"Mangle! Are you serious?" He wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed as he snapped at her.

She said nothing, and stuck her head into the air outside, her tongue swishing in the gravitational force, and her one good eye pressing back into its socket. She held onto the rim of the ajar opening, and just looked ahead with a big, splayed grin.

Nervously, he looked about the highway around him, and noted that there was only one car driving behind them, too the left inner lane.

Nobody would see if he let the little weirdy get some air.

Whatever, it worked for him.

He sniggered and kept vision on the road, noting exit 89 passing by, only two more lay between it and his turn.

That was some comfort then, so he really didn't notice when the Mangle's head had jerked to stare at the sky above, and her tentacles began to swing about outside the window. There was a thud in the passenger rear of the car, and he checked the view in his mirror, and shrugged...

Then his eyes darted back wildly.

Oh yes, somebody would indeed see THAT.

"M-Mangle! MANGLE! Stop it, get in here! NOW!"

There was a dulled 'Weeeeeeee!' above his head as the only thing that remained inside the passenger area was two feet-capped pipes that draped over the seats, the rest of the Mangle had vanished to angle at the top of his car.

Bravely, Phillip took a last look around his Ford, grunted, and reached behind the seat.

Her car-surfing ended with a cut off, dramatic shriek, and Phillip snatched hold of the two pipes, and tugged the animatronic from the roof of his ride.

There was a clank, and tumbling metal contact, and the yelping Mangle rolled and flailed back into her seat with a series of clacks and loud reports. She stood there, quiet, and sniffed at the window as it shut via his front-seat control.

"Are you INSANE?!" He barked. "What if someone SAW YOU?! What would you do? HUH?!"

She cocked her head at him, sniffed the air, and waved to her human friend with one of her hand-caped pipes.

"Me would wave!"

"Ugh... I forgot... You ARE insane... How stupid of me."

"Philly?"

"What?"

"Can I turn dial?"

He glanced as she leaned on the cupholders that divided the two front seats, and reached excitedly to the tuning wheel on the radio console.

"You listen to music?"

Mangle gasped dramatically.

"ME WUVVS MUSIC!"

"Alright... Knock yourself out..."

She looked at him funny, then the radio, sniffed, and grabbed hold of something behind his seat.

He went slack jawed, turned away from his driving briefly to gape in complete awe as the Mangle reared back with the fixing jack he forgot to lock back in his trunk, towards her own head.

"N-NO!" He snatched it from her quickly, grumbled, and laid it by his legs. "That means, you can use the God-damned radio! Not BASH YOUR CIRCUITS OUT!"

"YAY!"

The radio coughed static and garbled conglomerates of cut-off lyrics and words as the Mangle twisted the dial with an astonished expression of wonder. He bit his lip and snarled.

"What this?"

She left a station on that was playing Green Day.

For awhile, she sat there, staring at the thing as lyrics of the lonely road echoed about.

"-Philly? Why does he walk alone?"

"Its just the lyrics, Mangle..."

"But being alone is stupid!"

He shrugged as response.

The Mangle chattered incomprehensibly, and twisted the dial once more.

She stopped at a station with America singing a Horse with No Name.

"But the horsey has to have name!"

"Well it doesn't here-"

"MADNESS!" The Mangle shrieked defiantly. "-Horsey has to have name!"

"Tell that to the group, not me..."

There was a thud as the Mangle flicked the radio with one of her feet.

"Name the horsey Bill Jenkins."

"Mangle its not that big of a deal-"

"But what if they meet Policeman! And they have identificationz and the horsey don't?"

"That's just..." He chuckled. "-I dunno, that's just funny."

"Well me has nickel!" A clink of metallic disturbance, and she gestured the coin that she STILL had from the whole driveway fiasco, at the radio, and pushed the dial to silence the song.

"-Pay your own toll, horsey meanies!"

-0-0-0-0-0-

What was surprising about the entire trip, was that after the near trainwreck, Mangle was actually calm and collected, and Foxy just... Sat there and looked pretty. You know, pretty unconscious.

Phillip Linn had never felt this comfortable around things he didn't know before, especially with such adjacent space between them and him. It was odd, kind of freaky, but after a mere week, Foxy had now grown on him with the fact she was just a troubled creature looking for someone to at least talk too.

At first their relationship had been one of interest, she found want in chatting with the only human in her lifecycle she could have full hours of conversations with, and he was intrigued with a talking robotic creature.

Simple.

Then of course, Foxy's absence from such gifts excelled her growing desire to expand on just being acquaintances.

Phillip couldn't even touch her fur without getting a little buggy.

Yet it was clear the animatronic had a thing for him that even SHE couldn't shake off.

Whatever that THING was, Phillip felt himself feeling horrible for being a tad... Repulsed. As nasty and cruel as that word sounded for basically rejecting someone, especially someone that was experiencing such a rough life, it was the only he could think of.

He knew it was wrong to look at that way, but how else was he supposed to react? She was a living, breathing and talking robotic contraption in a children's pizzeria? Kind of awkward to just go along with it as a normal human being.

What's that my furry, partially mechanical, dusty smelling automated friend? You think I'm hot? I think your hot too!

Not exactly acceptable on modern day Earth.

Phil actually was grumbling beneath his own breath when the Ford bucked from his brake and fixture to PARK.

His daylights brightened the white paint of his garage door briefly, they went dark when the key slipped from the ignition in his clenched palm. Sighing, he looked behind him to see the Mangle preoccupied with burying her face behind the passenger seats towards the trunk.

"What are you doing?" He asked tiredly, rubbing his temple.

"_'E ike cottn nandy!_"

"The heck-?"

Phillip swung his door open, not minding when Foxy jolted awake with a startled, exacerbated gasp, and catapulted himself to the side of his car. The passenger side was yanked ajar, and before the security guard could even snap for the animatronic too stop, his mouth just jerked to stillness, and his brow twitched.

The same loose flap of leather that had been torn behind the leftwards passenger seat, many months ago from when he lifted a recently purchase lawn weedwhacker from the trunk, the dude at Home Depot forgot to mention it still had batteries.

So, Phillip pressed the button dumbly, screamed like a woman when it buzzed in his car, and threw it onto the lawn as it powered down.

The damage had already been done, so, Mangle made it worse. Of course.

He just bit his tongue when Mangle's head jerked away from the tear, a quite noticeable bulge clamped within her mouth, and her one eye wide like a platter.

"_Iiiii iLLLLYYY!_" She muffled.

Phillip looked between her and the absent puff of foam-interior from the bitemark torn into the seat, the prior weedwhacker damage peeled away by eager Mangle-teeth.

The Ford shuffled as Foxy clambered from the front seat to open the door.

Phillip stared at the smiling Mangle with an emotionless expression, and held his hand out for her to spit it out.

His fingers flexed in his direction when she sniffed at them dully.

"What that for, Philly?" She giggled.

Again, seeing the bulge absent from her chops and... Anywhere else, told him all he needed to know about the deranged animatronic's consumption abilities.

All he could muster was a quick twitch of his eye. Nothing more.

"Foxy? You alright?"

Phillip lost all conception of the fact his car was slowly being mangled by a freakshow with the same name, and hurried over to the front door of the Ford, where the tall, furred vulpine creature stood, eyes locked to the front of the house.

Foxy rocked a bit in her stand, shook the car as the daylight sucked her energy away, and forced her to balance on the doorframe briefly.

Phil hurried over, and slung her hook-baring arm over himself again.

"-P-Phillip-?!" She squeaked.

"Hold on there, wobbles, let me help you..."

Foxy said nothing, hissed as the light bore on her from her helped trots beneath the overhang of his porch.

The second the rays of the sun weren't touching her, she quaked oddly, in a quivering sort, and snaked away from the human with a slip of motion, reforming that urge to enwrap her chest with her arms. Foxy kept her gaze to the floor as he retrieved Mangle from the backseat, came back to the porch with said weirdy over his shoulders, and put his front key to work.

"Phillip..." Foxy muttered. "-I'm like... Really..." She huffed.

"Don't worry pals-o mine, I'll close the shades and everyt-"

"Phil!"

He yipped, the key clattered to the wooden floor, and the Mangle had a wide eye peek over his hairline again.

"Holy frag! Why are you yelling?"

"Phillip I'm... I'm really overwhelmed right now..."

He scratched his head, picked the key up and unlocked the front door.

"I've NEVER been outside... I've never had a friend too INVITE me in their HOME..."

"Well then I guess I'm the first!" He arched the door open, looked around his mostly woodland-block to make sure no one was active in the area, and gestured for her to enter after him.

Foxy watched him like he was crazy, and the Mangle flew inside the house with a triumphant cry. The chandelier in Phillip's dining room squeaked noisily whilst it was used as a swing.

Shaking his head, he waved her inside.

Foxy couldn't move when he did that, or when he stepped back out to take hold of her paw again.

The sudden contact he had kept initiating was one of a puzzle here, a puzzle that would combine into the basic panic-attack she was getting at the moment.

Twenty some-odd years of being alone, never communicating largely with any others than those she hated and likewise, fighting evenly strong monsters in turn, sitting in silence and dark in a dusty, forgotten Cove...

All that ended with the sudden appearance of this stupid little human.

She now had someone to talk with, laugh with, understand things from and debate. He helped her fight the evils, offered assistance during the dreadful nights and finally, gave her sanctuary in his home.

Yet to display such gratitude, Foxy only garbled unintelligently, allowed her facial features to hue terribly, and stepped inside the doorway quickly and wordlessly, her paw draping away from the young man.

Seeing the current situation, he wasn't offended, he just nodded, grinned and followed to close the door behind himself.

In fact, he'd have been worried if she DIDN'T react that way.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"She left, you say?"

"Mmmhmm. Up with that meatbag, got in his little driver and-VROOM! Gone! Gone..."

"Interesting. You see this is why I like the human, yes?"

The response was no less a dismissive wave of a paw than any other solution, surely, because insanity drowned him and everything he touched every waking moment of existence, but also, because that insanity worked through the cracks of chance.

Who was anyone but HE too call himself crazy? Anyone still alive? Quite few.

That only meant that he succeeded with insanity at his beck and call, with madness ready to lash out and consume his foes on his command.

Freddy was always out of his mind, he preferred it that way, never hadn't. The world was a giant tinderbox in the grand scheme, there was so much mystery, confusion and disagreement, that fires were something to brew over years and erupt in a storm in a brief second.

All it took was a maniac to light the fuse, and by the end of the arson, the maniac usually left more scarred by only HIS own hand alone... If the cards were dealt to the right sides of the table.

However, no amount of material, no promises other than chances for carnage, could win over the lesser of his kind. For certainly, Chica was a freak, an unstable packdog that despite the childish deception, was capable of atrocity, was willing to put those capabilities in use for his word.

She just gawked a minute, her multiple sets of jaws within her fake, plastic beak splayed in silent shock.

"B-But the human IS meat! He is prey! PREY!"

"No doubt to such, my girl," Freddy grumbled. "This is why I LIKE him, I appreciate his ability to cloud our foe's mind, hmm? Look at it in a higher perspective, chance this with me..."

Stepping away from the darkened stage, Freddy's feet thudded the ground in a rumble only a massive beast could make, he waved his arm in the direction of the hall to the Cove. Chica kept an eye on him, minding to give glances to the hunched shadow in the back of the stage too.

"Foxy! Darling lass, once as prim as the gears come," He smiled. "Just as strong as you, me, faster than us and just as so... To ole' 'B..."

Freddy's paw fell a digit to each of them in turn with his words, he waved blandly to the ball of darkness scrunched up in the stage's back, upper level, snickered when it pulsed in a heavy grunt.

"Foxy, the one animatronic to resist, to remain PEACEFUL to the people here, will now be undone by one of those people."

Chica garbled, her eye-lids gave a repeated spasm.

"I can't WAIT to taste the blood... Really. I can't... "

Freddy actually deflated inaudibly with knowing, he grunted to Chica's lack of comprehension, angled his chin to the stage again.

"Alright, 'B... At least keep YOUR head on its sprockets for this escapade, Hmmm?"

"Blood is blood," The misted response came dreary from the shadows as Bonnie nodded briefly to the quaking asylum captive. "-I'll spill it when I think I can."

"That's all I needed to hear!" Freddy clapped his paws. "See? Self control is the lady tonight. It can be every night, if we finally END this."

"If we can kill her, we'll kill her," Bonnie snapped, the sound of a clanging wrench echoing. "That isn't the definitive outcome here, butchering the guard IS."

Freddy frowned, lacked comment when Bonnie readjusted his jaw, and threw a small toolbox back to its place somewhere among all the instruments up there.

Tapping his hip with drumming claws, the bear tried to push a button, for kicks.

"What say you with the guard? Anxious for everyday cattle?"

"If YOU could control this frigging bloodlust the FREAK has been petrified with, you'd understand."

"Chica, go... Somewhere else..." Freddy grinned to realize he had just dismissed air, angled a brow at the ajar door into the kitchens, and stepped to the foot of the stage.

"Alright, bloodlust. That's your reason?"

"I said my fact, not how you could see it..."

"I'll take it for now. Don't stress, 'B."

"Stress? For the pile? Just dumb, Fredd... That's a stupid thing to say."

"Facts can be perceived STUPID by many... Especially when they're shit out of a venomous orifice."

Bonnie straightened himself back there, angled to stare with beaming, white-glowing eyes to the bear. He looked utterly hateful, and Freddy mentally cackled to the taste of this delicious little game he was torturing the rabbit with.

It was actually disappointing that Bonnie was learning, because this time, he didn't bite like he had before.

Nay, the purple killer just smiled with his newly fixed jaws.

"Get a dictionary from the janitor closet you bow-tied little bitch." He chuckled.

Freddy's teething grimace faded for a masque of a devilish grin.

Bare your teeth to it... The teeth take the brunt of the tide here, it allowed self-control, it allowed him to buy time, and end all around him.

-0-0-0-0-0-


End file.
